The Hunt
by spyslikeus
Summary: The team is faced with the impossible situation of protecting two very high profile Numbers with a seemingly endless list of potential threats. Unable to exposed the perpetrator and barely staying ahead of the escalating attacks, our heros soon find themselves out of options and pushed to their limits in the face of a killer storm. (Realistic Reese whumpage and plausible Careese)
1. Chapter 1

Summary: With two new Numbers taped to their situation board, Finch and Reese are faced with the impossible situation of protecting two very high-profile victims with a seemingly endless list of potential threats. Unable to exposed the perpetrator, they find themselves barely staying ahead of the escalating attacks and quickly realize there are no safe options left in the city, but with a killer storm on the horizon, and not knowing how the killer will strike next, Finch and Reese must make some risky decisions to keep their Numbers, and themselves, alive.

Characters: The whole gang - Reese, Finch, Fusco, Carter and Bear

Themes: Crime, Action, Hurt/Comfort, and of course Whumpage (yup I love to beat up poor old John) and a bit of a long-awaited Romance for you Reese/Carter fans

Rated M to be safe - contains violence, some language, graphic medical details (but I'll warn you along the way) and romantic moments

(Authors Notes* This does follow my other three stories but it's not necessary to have read them to read this one. Just know that the last ones were pretty grueling for the team, and Reese and Carter had quite the heart to heart, laying all their cards out in "Twisted."

Previous Stories: Energy, Twisted, Death Dealer

* * *

ch 1

Reese sat across the street from the quaint two-story tutor style home. He felt exposed despite the tinted windows of the inconspicuous mini van, and having snuggly parked against a towering cypress with heedless disregard for the paint.

The neighborhood was one of those everyone's-in-everyone's business suburban nightmares. The kind of place where everyone lived in desperate hope they might witness the slightest deviation from the association's decreed _normal, _in an attempt to break free of the mind-numbing monotony. Reese had experienced a lot of things, survived a lot of things.., but he was pretty sure this place could undermine even the most ingrained of his survival training.

"Finch, there's no signs of any threat. Seriously... this place makes a church seem dangerous. You sure the machine didn't have a hiccup on this one?" He spun the lens of his camera, zooming on their Number's putterings. "She's been worrying her perfectly trimmed bushes to the point of butchering."

"You sound disappointed. I should think after our last cases, you'd be welcoming one of a... less intensive nature. Best enjoy the rest Mr. Reese, the machine just gave us two new Numbers."

"Already? Haven't even wrapped this one up yet. You hit the 'slave driver' setter?"

"The machine only sees what's actually going on, Mr. Reese. Though it does seem like the premeditated crimes have been overly abundant and taxing of late..."

He had to agree. Their last cases had been challenging, even for him, but Reese knew Harold's resulting injury sharpened his opinion to a very tangible edge. "You can't tell me you didn't enjoy a bit of field work, despite getting grazed. Besides, a lot women find scars sexy."

"On the contrary Mr. Reese, unlike you, I'm perfectly content running things from here and avoiding ever being shot again. And I do just fine with the ladies scars aside."

"Is that right?" Reese really wanted to know more about what 'ladies' he was referring to, but instead concentrated on his Number. "Ah Finch... so much for boring. Mrs. Simon's_ hobby_ just graduated to something a little more interesting."

"If I'm correctly interpreting your description of trimming bushes as '_interesting'_, then it must be of a more sinister nature?"

"Yup - no one fills their pockets with oleander leaves for decoration. Guess this makes her our perpetrator. I'd better head in."

* * *

The inside of the house, just like the outside, was every bit a reflection of its inhabitants - outwardly perfect and inwardly ready to crack.

Reese moved between the bushes along the side of the house to get a clear view through the first window.

The living room looked more like something out of a staged showroom than a real home. A virtual fireplace hung the wall, casting flickering light over stark white furniture, and walls empty of personality, character or warmth.

Reese spotted Mr. Simons perched on the white couch, reading a magazine while making every effort to appear comfortable, and failing miserably. John couldn't help notice an explosive tension just boiling under the surface. "Maybe Emily's a victim after all. This guy looks like he could turn axe-murder any second."

"Stay vigilant, it's often the most calm surface that hides worst monsters."

John soundlessly crept toward the back of the house, immediately spotting Mrs. Simons. She had her back to him, but it wasn't hard to see she tended something on the stove by the reflections in all the obnoxiously polished-steel. The kitchen boasting more stainless steal than his gun collection, he realized.

Mrs. Simons hovered over the steaming pot with a focused anticipation. "Finch, she's in the kitchen definitely cooking something, and I"m guessing there's more to it than the mulled cider I smell."

"If she is indeed cooking the oleander, then her intent is maliciously undeniable."

John climbed the stairs and quietly tested the door. He wasn't surprised to find it unlocked and even less, to find it opened with a lubed silence he was sure every door, drawer or hinge would share. If these people put as much effort into their relationship as they did their house, he might not need to be here.

As Emily picked up her tray and made for the living room, Reese swept passed the stove to fish a verifying leaf from the pot's edge before coming up behind her. "Oleander's not an actual ingredient for cider." Reese casually whispered as they both entered the living room.

Emily Simons spun around, spilling the contents of the cup on her spotless floor, while Bob nearly stumbled over an end table to flatten against the wall.

"Take w-what ever you what!" Bob stammered.

"I only want to stop your wife from making a mistake."

Emily's eyes narrowed, while her voice shook in rhythm with her hands. "Wh-h-who are you?"

"Someone who thinks divorce is a better choice over murder." Reese reached for the tray.

"HELP! Bob help!" Emily screamed.

Reese humorlessly laughed at her hypocritical pleas. "I know it smells good Detective, but I wouldn't suggest a taste." John slowly turned to meet the burley Detective now walking into the room.

Fusco quickly took in the scene and holstered his weapon. "Don't worry - Glasses filled me in. Oleander? Now I've seen it all, turn around." He ordered and snapped his cuffs into the shock-stricken woman.

"I don't know what you are talking about. Bob, tell them!"

"Seriously lady? _Bob_ is white as a sheet and cowering over there lucky to be alive. He ain't gonna be savin' you. Should'a thought of that before you tried to off him." Fusco looked at Reese. "You'd better get gone. This neighborhood made you the moment you stepped outta your soccer-mom van. Cops'll be here any second."

"You _are_ the cops Lionel." Reese smirked.

"Fine, let me rephrase it. The cops - that'd love to throw your ass behind bars - are on their way."

"I'm touched Lionel. You used to be one of those cops."

"Don't get me wrong, _still_ am.." Fusco clarified but in a tone lacking sincerity. "Just get outta here and let me do my job."


	2. Chapter 2

Notes* The whole story is written. I'll be as quick as I can to get the chapters edited and up. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

It was still early and though he should be exhausted, he knew he'd never be able to fall asleep.

Finch was right. This case had been refreshingly simple, uneventful even.., but the fact that either of them considered any attempted murder _'refreshing,'_ was truly a testament to how ragged the machine had been running them, and just how jaded they'd become.

Despite that, a smile played across Reese's lips while climbing the last of the library steps balancing dinner - he'd take being _busy_ over to sitting around any day, he admitted.

John was nearly around the corner when he was suddenly attacked. Lost in thought, his assailant had taken him by surprise, hitting him with quick skill and instinctive cunning.

John had to think fast. He spun, rolling passed the on coming body thrown his direction. He feigned left, then dodged right, but was not quick enough to evade the pummeling excitement of the eight-five pound ball of bounding happiness, he lovingly called Bear.

John managed to save their food, though it was most likely a jumbled free-for-all in the bag as he knelt and returned the loving gesture. He couldn't help the broad grin Bear's enthusiastic greeting spread across his face or the sense of belonging while vigorously scratching the euphoric canine. He was just truly amazed at how dogs could do more to heal a damaged soul than any shrink in the world. He was sure Harold would agree...

Finch couldn't resist stealing a glimpse of the happiness exuded by two of the most important friends in his life. Admittedly, It was a rarity to glean such a moment, when Mr. Reese actually let his guarded exterior down enough to express genuine, carefree emotion. He valued their bond and privacy, but enjoyed the moment none-the-less before moving into view. "You know it's really quite unfair: you have shoes that don't slip while Bear has no traction."

Reese stood up from their bout of rough-housing, panting and still grinning. "But he's four-wheel drive." He pouted.

Finch laughed as he lead them back into the main area of the library. "Smells good, what 's for dinner Mr. Reese?"

"It was two #3 shrimp dinners from the Golden Dragon, now it might be jambalaya." Reese's suspicious gaze traveled to the transparent garment bag hanging on the coat rack. "Finch? How many of those damn things do you have?"

"Apparently not nearly enough, at the rate that you destroy them."

John gave a slight shrug, "so what stuffy venue do I need a tux for this time?"

"The danger seems quite eminent for our two new Numbers. Last night an unregistered truck attempted to run them off the road. Luckily it failed and ended up only damaging itself. The driver, however, escaped by the time police got there."

"Do we know anything about our Numbers? And who might be after them?" Reese ask around his mouth-full.

Finch set his chopsticks aside. "Edward and Anthony Wright. They are..."

"I know who they are." Reese set his food down with a look of sincere surprise. "And that pretty much answers who's after them... Everyone."

"Indeed Mr. Reese, your assessment may not be far off. The Wrights are extremely connected, both in well-known and legitimate political circles as well in the equally influential illegitimate ones: no official proof of the latter of course."

"Of course..."

"But with close ties to some of the most corrupt government and city planning officials, it's hard to believe this threat doesn't stem from that in some fashion. They've amass quite the reputation and fortune carving monopolies for their construction companies while convincingly hiding behind their historic preservation guise for outward support."

"And when you say _'carving,'_ you mean out of the backs of the countless people and companies they shredded to get there. They've left a thick trail of destroyed lives their wake."

"Quite true. The list is extensive to say the least. By exploiting their political ties and connections they've blocked or halted countless multimillion dollar projects to leverage the exclusive use of their own companies, causing a great deal of direct and indirect fallout for the previously contracted companies and any vested parties. If their terms are refused, the projects get stonewalled indefinitely.

Their most recent crusade, as I'm sure you know, is the DeWitt Corporation's billion dollar Tower project. The proposed project was to start in mid summer, but thanks to the Wrights, things are now at a stand still and hemorrhaging funds."

"Yeah, I saw DeWitt's very flagrant denouncement of the Wrights and their vow to take the fight to the 'highest levels.' So aside from being off their Christmas lists, you think that includes murder?"

"I haven't found any evidence that points directly to the DeWitts yet, but the adverse consequences of the shutdown are far-reaching. Multitudes of investors, designers, contractors.., have all suffered. And unfortunately, the list goes on. I'm looking into them now, but I'm afraid our work is cut out for us."

"This is gonna be like finding the smoking gun in the middle of a minefield." Reese straighten with the faraway look of contemplation.

"It would seem motive for murder abounds, hence the tux, Mr. Reese. You will be joining the Wrights at a private fundraiser tomorrow evening."

Reese slung the tux over his arm.

"And John... You'll need a date not to mention another set of eyes may be an asset. I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of taking care of the details."

Reese froze with a suspicious glare...


	3. Chapter 3

What should have been a day spent relaxing, planning for a standard recon and protection op, turned into a day of nervously checking his watch with anxious anticipation.

True his cover needed a date to get into the fundraiser. After all, he was posing as the affluent Mr. and Mrs. Roney. Zoe was more than qualified to handle that crowd. She talked the talk, could definitely walk the high-roller-BS walk, and best of all, she was never a distraction. But the way Finch said it, Reese knew he didn't mean Zoe.

What Finch didn't realize, was now he would be watching _her._ Or maybe that's exactly what he realized and it was his twisted idea of combining the R&R he hadn't gotten in the past weeks. Either way... this would be far from relaxing.

Carter was getting off work early, around 3 o'clock, she said. He was supposed to be picking her up at 5. It was now 2:05 and five minutes since he last time he checked his watch.

Resigned to being tormented he gathered the guns he intended on wearing and carried them to his coffee table to give them a therapeutic breakdown and cleaning just as his phone chirped.

"Detective." He purred.

"Hey John. So, I've been doing some checking, going over some of the death threats our new guys have reported going back six years. We're talking a thick file of more than just angry nobodies. The mobs for one, Russians, Italians, Albanians, even Irish. But the Russians definitely top the list being suspected of killing his wife five years ago."

"Yeah car bomb right? But no convictions."

"Not surprising, you know how slipper the Families can be."

"Well lets just keep an open mind tonight. The threat could come from any direction, both large and small."

"Yeah I know... just takes one shot. Any idea what we'll be up against tonight?" She asked.

"I'm figuring either close range knifing, poison... either by food or syringe, something easily concealed and smuggled."

Carter chuckled, "no I mean the fundraiser... are we expected to mingle with that..," she tried to be tactful, "element? What the hell do you talk about?"

John laughed at their shared discomfort, "Don't worry Carter you'll do fine. Just touch on the top earth-shattering topics like how hard it is to find a good help, probably don't talk shop unless the socialites really have you up against the ropes."

"Ha, ha. Thanks, real helpful John."

"You'll do fine Joss. You always do..." More than fine, he thought quickly reeling himself in.

The use of her first name always throw her for a weak-kneed loop. God, she needed a cold shower already; tonight was going to be a test of endurance - thank goodness it was gonna be outside - and cold. "Don't be late John."

Reese shank back into the couch cushions and shook his head with closed eyes. What was Finch thinking...

* * *

Carter hadn't been out of the shower ten minutes before there was a knock at her door. No way John would be this early... she'd kill him. But by the time she got to her peephole, nobody was there.

She cracked her door, ready to kick some prankster's ass, when she found a stack of three boxes with a note. Her heart started pounding a little harder when she saw all three were from Sak's. There was no doubt who they were from.

_'Thank you for your help...' _Was all the note said. "Ok Finch, what did you do...?"

She started with the smallest box, which ended up containing a pair of the most gorgeous shoes she'd ever seen. Golden leather, Jimmy Choo heels with jeweled ankle straps to keep them in place incase she needed to move quickly. "Thoughtful," she smiled turning them in her hand. In the same box was a small golden clutch to match, and considerately big enough for her small Sig P380. "Nice job..." she purred and moved onto the second, long, rectangular box.

She just about forgot how to breath when she pulled the dress up before her. Pure yellow silk flowed from her finger tips to the floor. "Holy crap..." she uttered, just about falling over the box to get to her mirror and try it on. She spared a quick look at her old dress spread on her bed and couldn't begin to explain the relief she felt at not having to wear it.

Carters eyes widened at the sight of the glorious gown draping off one shoulder in a sheer chiffon panel that just grazed the floor alongside the gentle train of piled silk. The color complemented her skin with striking contrast. And the waist! She was in love! It had the softest hint of golden bejeweled vines reaching up across her ribs to the single shoulder strap and matched the shoes and clutch in masterful perfection. Finch had outdone himself.

If he wasn't so busy saving the world he would have made the most incredible designer with his taste, but she figured she'd keep that one to herself.

With the biggest box left to open, Carter set it on the bed and sharply inhaled. It was a coat. A full length, soft black wool coat. As elegant as the dress was, the coat was sexy, rich, dramatic, and tailored to her every curve with cape style sleeves with a silk lining that made you forget anything was underneath. "Damn, nailed it again didn't you..."

Just then she got a text. 'Glad you think so.'

She humphed. She'd gotten so used to their invasions of privacy it didn't surprise, or even put her off anymore. "Thanks Finch, but this too much. I mean those are Jimmy Choo shoes and a Notte dress at least $3000! I don't even want to think about what the coat cost."

'Detective, their costs are irrelevant. They are merely tools for your cover, however the fact that you like them pleases me.' Finch typed.

"Well thank you. And I'll have em back to you tomorrow."

'No need Joss, they are yours for the trouble. After all it is an after hour affair.'

The gesture left her nearly speechless so she circled the odd, half texting, conversation back to work. "Then I hope it pays off for our victims. Now if you don't mind, I... have to finish getting ready before my date gets here."

'Then I'll leave you to it Detective.'


	4. Chapter 4

Reese got out of the limo nearly before it stopped. The night air was crisp with a hint of snow on the horizon, but for now it simply nipped with the reminding bite that he needed to stay vigilant and on mission. _ They were working. _ Yeah well, that's what he was telling himself with every step to Carter's apartment. But when she answered the door... all bets were off.

If it wasn't for that fact that she had just asked him a question, he might not have remembered how to speak.

"John?"

"Sorry Carter, I... You... look amazing." His smile even touched his eyes as he drank her in.

Bringing the unflappable, bad-ass-super-spy, John Reese, to a speechless stammer was the biggest complement he could have ever given her. Of course she wasn't far behind. He was nothing short of captivating and deadly handsome in his perfectly fitted tux. "Not so bad yourself." She tried to sound nonchalant but was sure her flushing face gave her away. "I'll just get my coat."

"Here." John swooped in and took her coat and held the door for her.

"Careful, heroic and chivalrous... you might have more of a problem with those socialites tonight then I will."

"I doubt I'll be noticing them." Finch's chirping was a welcomed distraction.

"Finch."

"Mr. Reese, I almost forgot. In your breast pocket is an earwig for the Detective."

Reese immediately fished the tiny earbud from its case and handed it to Carter.

"Jewelry too? You shouldn't have." She falsely preened as she poop it in with a tap.

"Ok, go ahead Finch. You got something?"

"The backgrounds of each of the hired staff check out. I find no criminal pasts or links to suggest ill will toward our Numbers."

"We'll still keep a close eye on them. Doesn't mean they weren't bought last minute. What about the guests?" Reese added.

That I'm afraid is more complicated. Many share history with the Wrights, some benign, some only on the surface, however I doubt any would soil their own reputations by personally committing such an offense."

"I doubt it too. They won't want to get their own hands dirty, they'll hire someone else."

"Great." Joss brightly smiled, "so business as usual?"

"I would appear. Good luck to you both."

John turned to Carter holding her coat open before they stepped into the evening chill.

She let Reese slip the jacket over her bare shoulders, suddenly very aware of the strong hands lingering a trail down her arms. _Oh damn, hold it together Joss_, she inwardly scolded very thankful for the sobering winter blast that came with the opened door. _They were working._.. That's what she kept telling herself.


	5. Chapter 5

"So tell me again?" Reese indignantly started, grabbing a glass of passing champagne for he and Carter to better blend into the formal affair and maybe dull his simmering annoyance. "Why is this thing outside, in the middle of winter?"

"It's symbolic, Mr. Reese. The Winter Gathering is a fundraiser for various charities, hospitals, research groups and the like, but the underling purpose is to celebrate its origins and conquered adversities of the pre and post Revolutionary War Freemasons. This one is hosted by the secret membership of the George Washington Grand Lodge members: a very exclusive group of members whose affiliation dates back to 1738."

Reese rolled his eyes at the unwanted flood of details. "So the pampered and spoiled are _role playing._ One over priced dinner party, pretending to freeze their asses off on a catered, heated rooftop courtyard and they can identify with the perils of war." It wasn't a question.

Finch knew there was nothing he could say to quell Mr. Reese's evident distaste. "They do actually raise a great deal of money for the charities, but basically.., yes."

"They could just donate without all the pretense, Finch." John drily whispered .

And Carter added. "That's what happens with too much time on their hands. Hey..," she caught a glimpse of their targets and nudged John."

"Got our Numbers, Finch. Uh oh..."

"What do you see Mr. Reese?"

"Edward's having the lobster and Anthony's having the battlefield rations." He condescendingly offered.

"Aside from their food choices, have you noticed anything out-of-place?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary." John grimaced. "But at this point I could use a little excitement."

"If our perpetrators are seeking more than just their demise, this would be the perfect high-profile venue."

"So, someone who wants the rich and famous front and center..," Carter mulled, "that would make it very personal. A lot of hate, revenge, or both."

Reese nodded. "I'd have thought poison to be top option tonight, but I've been watching the waiters and guests near the food. It's a random grab-and-serve of the two choices - no one knows who's getting what. If I had to guess," Reese drew his eyes across the surrounding skyline beyond the rooftop's edge, "I'd say we're looking for a sniper. There are too many security guards and poor exit strategies for a face-to-face to be smart."

"There's only one building tall enough for a clear angle." Carter whispered with a pointing tilt of her head.

A sudden clamber of voices grew well above the party's drone pulling their attention back to the Wrights' table. "Or I could be wrong, and our killer is stupid?" Reese shrugged. "Finch, sending you a picture now."

Both moved in quick response, noting the challenging body gestures and rapidly escalating tempers. "That guy's definitely not happy with Anthony Wright."

"Harlow Tallmen. Well respected plastic surgeon, graduated ahead of his class and currently owns his own practice here in New York. It seems he appears on many of Anthony's social media entires. I'm hacking his emails now..."

"Well whatever their beef is, things are getting pretty heated." Reese moved up behind the man and Carter blended behind Anthony.

"You're drunk and wrong as usual Harlow. This isn't the place. Stop blaming your inadequacies on me!" Anthony barked.

"By their recently traded emails, I'd say the inadequacy he is referring to is Stephanie Tiller, daughter of Senator Mark Tiller. She graduated in the same class as Anthony and attends the same sports club. They appear to have had quite the torrid past, but recently she'd been dating Mr. Tallmen."

"So this is over a girl?" Reese grumped.

"It would seem, however I we've seen lesser reasons spawn a murder attempt."

"Well then better add him to the list too, Finch."

Carter inwardly snickered at John's frustration and turned to the security guard worrying on the edges of the confrontation. "Hey, I'm not sure... but I think I saw that guy stick a knife in his pocket. He's drunk and I'm really scared." She expertly batted her lashes.

That was all it took to push the questioned boundaries and the guards moved to escort Mr. Tallmen from the table.

"Nicely done Carter." Reese whispered. "Finch what have you got on the building up the street?"

"That is the Clarion Hotel..." Finch had already hacked the building's security systems and computer network. "I'm checking the current guest list for anyone that stands out, but Mr. Reese, we need to narrow our search, there are over three hundred guests at the moment."

"Can you tap into the building's environmental controls?"

"I can, but I fail to see how that will help?"

"A sniper would need to have the window open to take a clean shot. Target rooms with thermostats set higher than average, on anything above... the 11th floor, anything bellow won't have a good angle." Reese could hear Finch hard at work implementing his criteria.

"I've found two rooms that fit... Both paid in cash, for one night, by a Jim Smith and Cynthia Thomas. Room 1205 on the 12th floor, east side window and 1433 on the 14th floor, west side window."

Reese gently placed his hand around Carter and inconspicuously strolled from the dinning area to the farthest end facing the street bellow. Thick ornamental bushes, teaming with decorative frosted lights lined the rooftops boarder providing discrete privacy for a couple to steal away, or in their case, a surveilling point.

Carter poised next to John, trying to hide her nervous enjoyment at their closeness and pretended intimacy while still keeping an eye on the party crowd. "John? You think it's a good thing, or bad, that this.., hunting down a killer, feels more comfortable and normal than mingling at a party?"

John casually slipped an arm around her waist and drew her to him, "neither," he whispered in her ear, pulling a small spotting scope from his pocket, "it's perfect."

Carter smiled at the compliment, glad he wasn't looking at her. "Your still all clear. Got anything?"

"Oh yeah. I got him. Finch, thought you said this was a secret gathering?"

"You are correct ."

"Well then how'd this guy know exactly where to book a room? He's perfectly lined up for that corner of the party specifically."

"The members are not told the host location until just before the event, again to symbolize the difficulties these gatherings posed back then, secrecy was key."

"Well, the secrets out. You know.., you're gonna have to tell me how you know so much about this, Finch."

"Another time perhaps." Finch instinctively evaded the subject, but had no dilutions Mr. Reese's inquiry was only postponed, not forgotten.

Carter looked up over her shoulder at that section of the hotel. "John. He's gotta be over 100 yards, can you hit him with what you brought?"

"We'll see." With his weapon pulled from its place at his back, Reese steadied for the shot. His 45 wouldn't have been his weapon of choice for a shot like this, but it wasn't like he could conceal any of his long-range choices in a tux. "Carter, I'm gonna need a distraction."

Carter straightened with a bewildered look. "I'm not sure..," her eyes lit on the answer. "I got it. I'll give you a count down from five."

"Five...four, three, two.., one."

The once melodious music suddenly spiked to a deafening decibel, successfully drawing everyone's attention to the offensive speakers, and perfectly drowned the two shots Reese fired at the would-be sniper.

John shortly joined Carter, who had assumed the same innocently offended look as everyone else.

"Clever Joss." He whispered down into her ear.

With her hair swept into its elegant twist, his breath was free to tickle the back of her ear and made her response slower than she'd have liked. "The.. The poor DJ'll probably get fired... Did you get him?"

"Think so. Finch'll track him if he survived. I'm heading there now."

"I have him, Mr. Reese. He's moving through the hall and just entering the east elevator. It would appear by his gait, that you indeed wound him."

"Can you trap him in the elevator?"

"Unfortunately not, it's not networked to the rest of the system."

Reese turned to Carter before leaving. "Keep watch here, there might still be a back up plan."

"I got it. Go."


	6. Chapter 6

Reese took off, slipped through the crowd and into the main elevator.

His coat whipped behind him as he ran through the lobby and out toward the hotel across the street. "Let me know where he stops, Finch."

"Yes, he just did. On the first sub-level." Finch got no response other than hearing two distant pops and Reese's heavy breaths as he undoubtedly closed in on the location. "Be careful John, he's taking cameras. I just lost two and now have no idea where he is."

John's rapid footfalls echoed off the concrete walls of the hotel's underground parking area mixing with the screams of three terrified people as he ran passed.

"Don't go in there! Some guy's got a gun! Oh crap! You do too! Run!"

"No I'm..." but John abandoned his attempt to quell the bystander's fears doubting his attire would convince them of his 'don't worry, I'm a cop' lie.

"Finch you got anything?"

"I'm afraid not Mr. Reese. He's all but disappeared from my screens."

"With his injuries, he couldn't have made it too far from the elevators and I don't hear any engines. He's here somewhere."

Reese slowed his approach to the east side spotting the elevator doors. With his gun already drawn, he quietly slipped along the parked cars in that direction.

A bloody hand smug indicated the perp had been there and was heading to the right, but Reese had used that trick of disinformation too many times himself to take it as truth. Instead, he moved in the opposite direction toward a closer cluster of cars, careful to stay along their edge for cover, while stalking his prey.

Thick concrete pillars stood between every fifth car, at the moment John neared the second, a feral growl ripped through the dungeon-like silence, followed by the streaking black blur. The heavy metal rifle connected with savage force, chipping the concrete pillar where Reese's head had been a split second before he ducked.

Reese quickly wedged the rifle against the pillar with his right hand and rose with twisting left elbow across the man's face. The sniper released his hold on the weapon and staggered back into a car at the same time as he pulled a handgun.

At that point, Reese could clearly see the red soaking through the man's clothes and easily knocked the pointed pistol from the perps blood slicked hand, before being desperately tackled.

Reese intercepted the wild charge, quickly sidestepping with a shove, allowing the man's own momentum to drive him head-first into the pillar with a vicious crack. His boneless body slithered to the ground, signaling an end to the attack.

Reese knelt beside the sniper, pressing his scarf against the wounds. Both his previous gun shots had hit home. "Who are you working for?"

The man attempted to mouth an answer, but only indiscernible giggles escaped his damaged body before the assassin's eyes rolled to the back of his head.

"Did you find out anything Mr. Reese?"

Reese checked his pockets, quickly patting him down for anything that might be a clue, but found only empty pockets and nothing useful.

John looked down at himself. "Other than tuxes aren't very durable? No. He wasn't in the mood to talk, but he's not behind this. I'm sending you his picture now. Hopefully we can ID him."

"How can you be so certain he's not our threat?"

"He was a threat - just not _thee_ treat. His hardware is really high-end, used by Russian special forces. Either he's Bratva or he's a freelancer. Either way, someone's pulling his strings."

"I've already called Mr. Fusco. He should be there shortly."

"Good. How's it going up there. Carter ok?"

"She's handling herself quite well. I'm more than impressed with her mingling abilities, despite her self-professed discomforts. As far as any new danger to the Wrights, nothing has presented itself. I've alerted the paramedics, should their services still be needed?"

Guy's not good, but he's alive."

* * *

"Not sure if you know this, but you get more out of em when they aren't almost dead." Fusco approached Reese still kneeling by the perp putting pressure on the wounds. "Only way I know he aint' dead is you're still here. So who is he?"

"Was hoping you could figure that one out, Fusco. Here, your turn." Reese stood, giving Fusco no choice.

"Guys like the Wrights.., they got enemies crawling out of the woodwork. If the sniper isn't working on his own, in the data base or won't... or can't talk, then it's gonna be tough linking him to a puppet master. You'd think rich guys like them could afford a 24/7 security."

"Had em. still didn't prevent someone trying to run them off the road or this guy's long-range attempt." Reese corrected.

Fusco whistled, "you sure you want to get in the way of this one? Gonna be a lot of bullets to dodge."

"Might have said that about you a couple of years ago, and look how peachy you turned out." John snidely pointed out.

Fusco scowled at the ex-op then checked the sniper's pulse and wounds. "A 45? Hell of a shot from over there."

Reese shot him an annoyed look.

"Oh right - you could'a got him with a rubber band gun. Whatever. Guess they were counting on you, huh?" Fusco muttered with a raise of his eyebrows while concentrating on taking the man's finger prints and a DNA sample.

Reese laughed. "Their mistake. Anyway I have a party to re-attend. You might want to post a uniform on him at the hospital. Whoever he's working for may not want any loose ends."

"You and Carter surviving the stuffy shindig?"

John tilted his head with a shrug while turning to leave. "Got exciting for a bit..." Reese wasn't thinking about the sniper.

Fusco grinned. Whatever that meant, he was pretty sure his partner was probably thinking the same thing.


	7. Chapter 7

Despite the densely milling crowd, Reese's gaze was instantly drawn to Joss. It was as if everyone else faded into a colorless ether beside her vividly statuesque, and alluringly lethal form.

John slide up behind her. "Make any new friends?"

Carter masked the shiver of excitement at the closely whispered words. "I doubt anyone of them would chance breaking a nail at the shooting range." She chuckled. "It's been quiet up here. Everyone's just being ushered out after the 'disturbance' across the street, but no one's got a clue they were just in an assassin's cross hairs. You get anything from the guy?"

John shook his head. "Not much. I've got Fusco checking him out now. But he was carrying a real Russian SVD." His attitude perked with the detail.

Seeing the excited smile blossoming on Carter's face at the mention of the specialized sniper rifle, Reese had to fight to stifle his sudden desire.

"You're kidding really? That's really expensive and specialized hardware, definitely not your typical street thug choice. I've always wanted to try one."

"If you are both done admiring the weapon that almost killed our victims, perhaps we should address who hired him?" Finch interjected.

"Sorry Finch." Carter grinned an embarrassed smile while Reese grew serious. "You think he's Russian?"

"Don't know. Could be working for them or someone else. Either way, I got lucky with that shot. If who ever is gunning for our Numbers is going to be bringing in specialized help, I need to be in a better position to protect them."

"I'll see what I can do Mr. Reese. For now stay as close as you can."

"They're leaving now. Can you send me another car?"

"Already done Mr. Reese, and Detective Carter, the limo will take you home."

John held Carter with an apologetic look, wishing he could have at least taken her home.

Carter hid her disappointment at their evening having come to an end - they were there to work after all. "Don't worry about it John. Just watch yourself... it's supposed to start snowing pretty bad tonight."

Reese gave her a soft smile and bent dangerously close to her ear. "I was the most envied man here tonight. Night Joss."

Her eyes widened in swooning surprise at his uncharacteristic complement as she watched him vanish into the exiting crowd. _Damn you make it hard,_ she thought with a dry swallow.

* * *

The Wright's Bedford mansion was about forty-five minutes out-of-town. The pitch black roads were already icing over from the dropping temperatures, but Finch's AWD SUV clung to the highway with ease keeping the ostentatious limo in his sights. Avoiding any unwanted attention was a little more of a challenge without other traffic as camouflage, that also meant he couldn't be right there if their victims got into trouble.

But as he neared the 119 acre home, and the snow began to fall, it became abundantly clear that Reese would have to work a lot harder to keep their Numbers in view.

Automatic security gates, solid perimeter walls and the sheer distance to the house, soon put an end to his eyes-on surveilling.

"Finch, I can't get anywhere near the house, and have a seriously limited vantage point. Looks like they have infrared cameras set up all around the property, can you access any of them?"

"Unfortunately it's a closed system. I'm as compromised as you are. They do seem to be rather well fortified, between that, their security detail and your escort, they maybe safe for now Mr. Reese."

"I'll stick around a little longer. Anyone rise to the top of our fan club?"

"If you are asking whether I've narrowed the ungodly long list of people the Wrights have angered to a forerunner? I have not. It could take quite some time as there are any number of likely suspects, all with viable motives. Including a few known criminal organizations. I've sent the list to the Detectives hopping they may see something."

"What about getting me closer to the Wrights?"

"Still working on that."

"Well keep trying Finch, because I can't do anyone any good from out here."

Three hours in and Reese still sat, watching the house listening to the settling silence of the household calling it a night.

The spitting snow had intensified to a sticky, sightless mess, making an already less than ideal situation, futile, so the chirp in his ear came as a welcome reprieve. "Still awake Detective?"

"You know I never get much sleep when you're out gift-wrapping bad guys. Soon as I get all comfy is when I get a knock at my door or phone call. Anyway, Finch said you might appreciate a call." Carter grinned at the sudden image of a very bored John, impatiently sitting on his stake out with that bit-chomping scowl. "Fusco got a report on your sniper."

"Let me guess, mercenary hit-man not linked to any one."

"You'd be right. Peter Menniko. He's an ex-marine sniper. Did two tours in Afghanistan, then hit the private sector, but I guess he liked the money better in wet works. Ballistics ties his rifle to various murders, some suspected to be connected to the mobs."

"Any idea who hired him this time?"

"Unfortunately he's not talking. The doctors aren't too optimistic and their isn't much else on this guy. After the military, he just disappeared."

"Which mobs were the killings linked to?"

"Two affiliated with the Russians, one Irish, and one we strongly think was Italian funded... What can I say.., the guy's equal opportunity as long as the money's good I guess."

"Ok. Thanks Carter."

"You know.., there's a lot of people on that list who won't lose any sleep over these guys being taken out. Kinda makes it hard to see it coming. So be careful, ok."

Reese smiled. "You almost sound like your partner. Don't worry Joss. Right now the only thing I'm in danger of is dying of boredom."

"I just so happen to know a couple good cures for..." A thundering blast cut her short. "John! What the hell was that?!"

"_That, _was an explosion at the mansion! I've gotta go!" Reese was already out, running up the frozen hillside, damning the fact that he was still wearing dress shoes. "Finch!"

"I heard Mr. Reese. Can you tell if anyone was hurt?"

"No. I have no idea."

"At the moment, there's too much noise to differentiate the voices. I'll try to clean it up the audio..."

John climbed to the crest of the hill using his scope to make out as much as he could. "It looks like it was near the garage. A car bomb?"

"John, I've detected both our Numbers; they sound uninjured. A car bomb you said? I hope no one was in it."

"Did they have plans to go anywhere early tomorrow?"

"They have been known to frequent the country club early on Sunday mornings."

"Then I'm willing to bet they use a specific car too." Reese couldn't help his anger. He just couldn't do his job so far removed, and he'd missed this because of it. "Dammit Finch, I can't protect them from out here. I have to be closer."

"I have an idea about that Mr. Reese. However, for now you'd better leave. The police are already on their way and it wouldn't do to have you spotted in this current situation."


	8. Chapter 8

Reese all but stormed into the library without any preamble. "What have you got Finch?"

"Mr. Reese?" Finch turned from his computer screen in surprise. "I wasn't expecting you for another couple hours."

"Couldn't sleep. I just can't stop thinking this feels like an inside job. The sniper knew about the fundraiser, exactly where to set up for the shot. Who ever planted that bomb would have had to get access to the car or garage, and after seeing that place, I'm not sure I couldn't even bypass all their security without help."

"You maybe right. But if so, why detonate the bomb in the middle of the night and kill their driver, Jim Paulinski?"

"Call it dumb luck, or bad luck, but I don't think it was meant to. The driver would have wanted to prep the car for the morning, pull it out of the garage and under the entry cover before the snow blocked it in."

"A plausible theory. I've been checking into the backgrounds of the Wright's security guards. I found something. Well, it's not really what I found as much as who I didn't find."

John frowned at Harold's confusing explanation. "Their head of security, Henry O'Connor, he was on house duty or off on both attacks. And Mr. Reese he has a military background that could easily give him explosives knowledge."

"He would have had access to their itinerary, the security system and garage. How long has he been with them?"

"Fifteen years, and other than those coincidences, I can't find anything in his history that suggests a felonious past or any evidence of a payoff."

"Keep digging. There are a lot of motivators besides money to insight murder. What about the driver?"

"Mr. Paulinski? You think he planted the bomb that killed him?"

"I think he could have made a mistake."

"Perhaps we need to review they're home surveillance footage from the last week."

"Like I keep saying... I need to get closer." Reese ground his frustrated whisper.

Finch turned to John. "I may have the solution to that problem. You're the Wrights' new head of security."

Finch never stopped amazing him. "How the hell did you pull that off?"

"It seems a few well planted emails go a long way to unsettling even long standing relationships if there is little mistrust to begin with. The results were rather telling; you're not the only one that believes there maybe a traitor in their midst. Edward Wright just put a call into G-Tech, the private protection agency he prefers to draw from. They are known for their... discretion with their affluent clients. This after firing his entire security team, save Mr. O'Connor."

"O'Connor again. Sounds like I need to pay him a visit. Way to clean house, Finch." Reese said with impressed amusement. "And to think, after how many threats and attempts on his life.., and it only took a couple emails. When do I start?"

"I took the liberty of... eliminating one of G-Tech's top security advisors. You'll be taking his place."

Reese raised his eyebrows, "Eliminated? A little much, but I guess it works."

Finch pursed his lips at John's absurd implication. "Mr. Reese. I simply meant, I replaced his cyber existence with your information. I used much of your true background for your qualifications, so questions should be easily handled. Mr. Wright is expecting you, or rather John Flint, at his house at 8 am."

"And what if this G-Tech advisor comes walking back in?"

"He won't. He is currently leaving for an exclusive, all-expense-paid vacation to Bermuda."

"Nice of you... What about a team? Gonna be a complicated juggling act."

"Given the precarious situation, I advised Mr. Wright that a one man addition, with him at all times, was a safer and more discrete option and by simply assigning two independent sentries to the grounds, will help deter any further intrusions. I've cleared a short list." Finch motioned John toward one of the computers to his right. "Choose wisely Mr. Reese."

John read over the security guards Finch had laid out. "I like these two for the job." Reese slide over a note pad with the names. "In case you want to take a deeper look."

"I'm sure there's no need Mr. Reese. When it comes to service records, that's where your expertise and ability to read between the _redacted_ lines is far better suited than mine."

John stood, collecting his coat. "You have a location for Mr. O'Connor? Think we'll have a private chat before we head in for work."

"In fact we do..," Finch suddenly grew stiff and paled at the data coming up on his screen. "However, I don't think he'll be much help..."


	9. Chapter 9

The apartment smelled like stale smoke, sour alcohol and blood. Carter knelt next to the chair, studying the body, weapon still draped across his lap, and the forgotten cigar left to smolder a slow death in his half glass of brandy.

"Wasn't suicide was it?"

Carter whipped around, to the unexpected person belonging to that unmistakable voice. "What the hell are you doing here John? The place is crawling with cops!" She whispered with concern.

"Don't worry. They're too busy wrapping this up with a neat little bow to notice me." The Corner jacket he'd swiped didn't hurt either.

Joss motioned for him to follower her into the other room. "No. My guts telling me something's off. It feels staged."

"Well, I've come to respect your gut, Detective." John said with a flirtatious glint in his eye.

"Only you could get away with using the word 'gut' to flirt with a girl." Joss laughed, "so, why do you think it's not?"

"I'd definitely finish my $500 Cohiba cigar first, and that bottles nearly full. I think it would take a little more than half a glass of liquid courage to get the job done."

"Agreed. And someone's hiding something. Where's his phone? Or a computer? So, you wanna fill me in on who this guy is, and why you're here? Cuz your usual sources were a little late on this one."

"Henry O'Connor. He's a long standing employee to Edward Wright. I stopped by to askMr. O'Connor a few questions."

"Such as?" She urged.

"How it was that the head of security could conveniently be for all three attacks."

"So you think he was helping the killer set them up? Any idea why?"

"Not sure yet, and now looks like it's a dead end." Reese drily smiled at Carter. "Too soon?"

"A little... So what now?"

"See if you can find anything that might have given him reason to sell out his boss. I've got to go. Don't want to be late for my _new_ job." With a wink he turned to leave.

Joss could only shake her head in wonder, watching him brazenly walk through the room full of preoccupied cops. The man certainly never failed to surprise, impress, and intrigue her, not to mention usually leave her with more questions than answers. "Never dull..." She muttered to herself and started the search for some answers.


	10. Chapter 10

"Are you insane? Paulinski's dead, there have been two attacks on our lives and you want to go skiing! Son, do you know how that'll appear to the press?"

"I don't give a flying shit about the press! I just want to get as far away from this psycho killer as possible, maybe unwind a bit. Hell, you heading out for an emergency board meeting at the office is way more dangerous!" Anthony Wright paced in front of the mammoth mahogany desk he always thought dwarfed his father.

"Our priorities should be here! Pushing passed these obstacles. Showing people what it means to a Wright! Think about your mother. There are always going to be those jealous of what we have built, trying to tear it down. We can't let them paralyze us. We need to make preparations." Edward Wright almost sounded believable even with his fear raging under the surface.

"Don't bring her into this, she only proves my point. Dad..think about it, if it hadn't been snowing, if Paulinski hadn't moved the car last night, we'd both be dead right now. We should both just leave while we can."

"I will not be manipulated and chased off by these maniacs!"

"Fine. Then at least wait for Henry and the new bodyguard. All I'm saying is postpone it. I'm gonna go pack in case you come to your senses."

"You should listen to your son." Both men turned to the tall, well dressed man filling the doorway with an imposing air. Reese wasted little time on formalities and jumped in. "You said you were supposed to be at the club today?"

"Mr. Flint, come in. Yes, we had an early morning planned at the club."

"Who knew your schedule?"

Edward paused in thought. "My security team, some of the house staff I guess, friends expecting us at the club."

"I'll need a detailed list. Whoever planted the car bomb knew your schedule and which car you planned to take. Where do you keep the surveillance footage?"

"I have to say Mr. Flint, I knew I was choosing well by Mr. Swan's recommendation - you don't waste any time. Oh, this is my son, Anthony."

Reese shook the younger man's offered hand. "I hope you're as good as they say you are. I still can't believe everything that's happened. Paulinski worked for us for as long as I can remember." Tony's voice shook with obvious distress. "Whoever this bastard is, he got close, way too close."

Reese inwardly grimaced at the fact that neither was even aware of how close the sniper had come. "I'm not sure a skiing trip is the best choice either." Reese stared down the cocky young man. Anthony was well-known for his jet-setting, in-your-face popularity among the rich, young and the senseless. "It's strategically dangerous, leaving wide open to attack."

"Mr. Flint, the security room is this way." John smoothly turned from a rattled Anthony to follow Mr. Wright.

"I'll also need a list of anyone that had access to the grounds in the past couple weeks."

"Whatever you need. I already did some of that for the police. What about the other two men? Can they be trusted?"

"I vetted and hand-picked them myself, they'll be assigned to simple perimeter duty." Reese scanned the hall and each room as they passed, noting the numerous cameras, motion and window sensors. "You've had other threats against your family." It wasn't a question.

"There are always threats Mr. Flint, just not physical attacks. At least not for a few years." Sorrow shadowed the older man's eyes. "It was about five years ago, when my wife was murdered. We'd taken over a new building project that upset the local mafia. There's always someone angry about new plans, so we tend to ignore most of the treats and chalked it up to the ordinary garbage. Until... Eleanor..." Edward's voice wavered, "she was... they killed her." Unable to go on, he changed the subject motioning to a closed door. "The security room is here. I'll be in the study. Let me know if you need anything."

"If I may say. I don't think it's a good idea that you go out just yet." John stressed. "Not until I've had a chance to shore up security."

"Then I suggest you get started Mr. Flint. This meeting is going to take place this evening at the latest." Edward ordered unswayed and left Reese standing in the hall.

Reese was annoyed but didn't press. "Finch? You get that?"

"I did Mr. Reese. Apparently the project he was referring to was in prime Russian territory. While meeting with developers, his wife, Eleanor Wright, was killed when a bomb blew up their limousine. Forensics found various bomb parts, but no traceable evidence to link to the mob. You think this could have something to do with his wife's death?"

"Until we find a lead, we can't rule anything out, even though the guy's pissed of plenty more people since then." Reese took a seat in front of one of the terminals and inserted a remote drive. "Gotta say, the Wrights are sufficiently paranoid, at least when it comes to their security system. You'd have a field day with all their high-tech measures - might even take _you_ two seconds to crack." John paused, " one more reason to think the perp had inside help."

"O'Connor."

"Be my guess at this point, but lets see what the footage shows. I'm sending you the files now."

A few scrutinizing minutes of silence passed between them while they studied the video.

"Mr. Reese? Did you send me everything?"

"I did. Why?"

"There are missing minutes from the garage cameras. From 8:03 to 8:21. I'd imagine enough time to plant a bomb?"

"It's possible, and the timing makes the bomb a convenient plan B to the 7:45 sniper attempt. Someone must have called O'Connor with the go ahead after it failed, and I doubt it was the wounded sniper."

"I'll check his account with the phone company to see if I can trace any calls made to him around that time. But Mr. Reese, I'm not sure I understand why our killer would sacrifice such a key piece?" Finch pondered.

"Maybe punishment for botching the kill? Or he just outlived his usefulness. Either way, they're ruthlessly methodical and pretty damn confident they have a better move."

"Indeed Mr. Reese. At least you are in a better position to protect the Wrights this time."

Reese certainly hoped so.


	11. Chapter 11

"Detective Carter NYPD... I called earlier." Joss declared into the security speaker.

It only took a few seconds before a mechanical buzz preceded the parting of the spiked, nine foot iron gates allowing her to enter the expansive grounds.

Last night's snowfall had turned the rolling landscape into a winter wonderland of sparkling white powder and trees tipped in glistening ice. If it wasn't for the fact that she was here to investigate a murder, she could almost pretend a country drive to some perfect getaway.

Almost.

The gaping hole, ripped into the front of the garage quickly reminded her that there was yet another body and a killer still on the loose. With two in the morgue and another two in someone's cross hairs, there was no time to waste, she admonished, pulling up to the taped off, smoldering remains of the twisted vehicle.

Carter craned her neck to see into the car. This had been a very hot and destructive blast. The last time she'd seen something like this, it had been a horrific IED blast back in Iraq. She'd be checking forensic's findings, but for now, she wasn't here for this.

Feeling watched by the two marble lions guarding the massive covered landing of the front door, Carter knocked.

"Detective Carter NYPD..."

"Yes. Please come in. Mr. Wright is in his study and expecting you." The portly butler invited.

Carter tried not to let her awe and amazement show or distract her while she was escorted through the opulent mansion.

Polished, white marble floors stretched in endless torture. Though gorgeous, just thinking about trying to keep them clean made her cringe; Taylor was impossible as it was, she grinned at the image.

"Just this way."

Cascading chandeliers hung from coffered ceilings in each of the ridiculously large rooms, while twin stair cases swept up to what she could only imagine would be more wonders of grandeur and the spoils of being a manipulative, unethical, rule-bending SOB.

"Just down the hall."

She could appreciate the oak-trimmed halls adored with heavy medieval tapestries and historic paintings she didn't recognize, but was sure cost more than her yearly wages.

"Mr. Wright, the Detective is here to see you."

"Ah, Detective Carter of the NYPD homicide division was it? I'm Edward Wright, this is my son Anthony. How may we be of service? Though I'm not certain what else we can tell you about poor Paulinski or the explosion."

Carter tried to swallow down the sickly sweet taste in her mouth. "I'm actually not here for that, Mr. Wright. I'm here about your employee, Henry O'Connor." Joss noted both men's look of bewilderment.

"O'Connor? Yes, he works for me; what about him?"

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Ah.., yesterday evening before we left for dinner." Anthony answered.

"So last night, O'Connor didn't go to the fundraiser you attended?"

"No. He'd hurt his shoulder at the gym a few days prior and offered to stay on grounds duty, even though it was most of our main staff's day off." Edward leaned forward in his desk chair. "Exactly what is this all about?"

"Sir, Mr. O'Connor was found dead in his apartment this morning of apparent suicide."

"What?" Carter carefully gaged the shock etch over both men's faces.

Edward sat with a look of disbelief. "He killed himself? That... that doesn't sound like O'Connor at all."

"I'm not sure it's that simple. Did you see him when you got home last night?"

"No. He'd already gone home, only our live in staff was still here by the time we got in."

Anthony moved next to his father in stern question."Detective, I'm confused. Why are you here if it was a suicide?"

"Apparent."

"Murder!? You believe Henry was murdered?! You think by the same people after us? Is that why you believe?!" Edward stood in punctuation.

Carter remain ultra calm yet leery. "In light of the recent threats and attempts on your own lives, I think his death could be connected, yes."

"This is just too much to fathom... How? How is it related?"

"It's possible that he might have been working with the people behind the attacks, or was killed as a statement of intent to make good on the threats."

"Preposterous! O'Connor has been a trusted and vital part of this company for years. I refuse to believe that. Do you have any proof?"

"We are just looking at every angle for your safety." She insisted.

"The latter is more plausible. First Paulinski and now O'Connor." Edward reasoned.

Anthony was frustrated and began a distracted pace. "Dad you terminated the entire security detail because you suspected someone close, what if O'Connor was involved?"

"Then he won't be dead!" Edward matter-of-factly slammed his fists down on the desk.

"Maybe you're wrong Detective, and it was suicide." Anthony pushed.

Edward ignored his son's last suggestion. "Detective. I want your best people figuring this out. I want to know exactly what happened to O'Connor!"

"Rest assured, that's exactly what we're doing Mr. Wright..." Carter barely noticed Edwards rude authoritarian tone, suddenly drawn to a presence behind her.

"Mr. Wright. Is there a problem?"

For the second time that day Joss's heart leap in fluttering surprise as she fought to stifle her reaction of excitement.

"Yes Mr. Flint, our head of security, was just found dead in his home." He composed himself and folded his hands. "The Detective was just here delivering the news."

"John Flint, new head of security. Murdered?" John played along.

Carter shook John's offered hand more on pretense than formality, and used the second to wrap her head around his presence. "That's what we're trying to figure out. I'd like a copy of any security footage you have of last night."

"Though I find either scenario hard to accept," Edward admitted shaking his head. "Mr. Flint, please see that the Detective gets what she needs." He finished with a dismissing wave.

"Of course. I'll take you to the security room."

"If you can think of anything else - here's my number." Carter placed her card on the large desk before turning and following Reese, _aka Flint... Amazing. _


	12. Chapter 12

The two walked down the hall in forced silence, not wanting to speak until they reached the privacy of the closed surveillance room.

As soon as the door closed Carter ironically laughed. "I don't know why I'm even surprised anymore." Reese cast a look of innocence her way. "Don't even try that, doesn't work on me..," she lied. " I see Finch worked his usual voodoo and got you in here."

"Yeah... He's good that way."

"Well at least you're on the inside. So what are you thinking? Our killer tipped O'Connor to go after the Wrights with a bomb after the botched sniper attack?"

John nodded with a slow blink admiring how quickly she pieced everything together. "Finch noticed some missing security footage that back's that up. He had enough military training to do it. "

"But didn't count on the driver moving the car?"

"Looks that way."

"And when O'Connor failed, they were either just pissed enough to kill him, or tying up useless ends."

"A bit of both s'what I'm thinking. Here," Reese replayed the time stamp for Carter. "He had access and time."

"What about motive?"

"Nothing yet."

"And the driver?"

"Finch checked him out. He's been with the family for twenty-one years and is totally clean. Any luck with O'Connor's cell phone or laptop?"

She shook her head. "Which means there's something on them the killer wants to either keep hidden or at least make it look that way... Incriminating O'Connor all the more."

"Well I think it's safe to say he's the security breach."

"Still.., not gonna be easy with this guy covering his tracks."

"Or with the Wrights so hell-bent on getting killed. Think my toughest battle is gonna be convincing them to lay low. Anthony wants to party in the Alps and Mr. Wright is insisting on a meeting for tonight at his downtown offices."

Carter grew a mischievous grin. "If you guys decide to divide and conquer, I'll take Switzerland."

Reese sat, staring at her for far too long, but couldn't help the instantaneous barrage of fantasies involving them tucked away in some a private lodge, snowed in, and all the things they'd do for warmth. "Finch could probably handle Edward." He grinned despite berating his weakness the moment the words left his mouth.

"I wouldn't say no to some... back up. But I'm sure Finch'd have something to say about that." _If only_, Carter dreamed and changed the subject. "Listen I've gotta run. It's a long shot, but one of the neighbors said O'Connor had a girlfriend somewhere in Queens, thought I'd try tracking her down." Carter moved toward the door. "Catch up with you later... 'Flint.' And don't let those pompous cretins bully you." She winked.

"Keep your head down Detective." Reese couldn't help the heated thrill she left in her exiting wake. Only she could draw such intense feelings, ever weakening his resolve to suppress his dangerous desires, and now, she added yet another few tantalizing images that didn't make it any easier.


	13. Chapter 13

Tense and silently fuming, Reese sat marveling at the extremely ill-advised meeting, while idly listening to the irrationally misplaced concerns over how 'the situation' could negatively impact the company, and how best to move forward.

Reese grew more and more exasperated.

_How about not getting killed... _John exasperatedly thought, wishing he could duct tape every last one of them as his eyes vigilantly swept the street six floors bellow.

He wouldn't have agreed to Mr. Wright orchestrating this meeting if it weren't for his, none too subtle, threat of firing him on the spot - which simply translated to no way to protect them. And he'd already tried that one.

Reese thought he'd been painfully clear. They were vulnerable in public, and even more so since a timeline had been shared with outside parties. It wasn't a _secret_ _meeting_ if the details were emailed and phone calls were made.

Information was like a stretched web vibrating their location to anyone that touched it. Finch knew it, and Reese tried to explain it, but Edward unequivocally insisted, with his sulking brat of a son offering no further opinion one way or the other.

Reese studied the three board members with a dark and measuring glare. Before leaving the house, Finch had quickly relayed the background details on each of them, but it did little to stay his unease. There wasn't enough time and too many uncontrollable variables.

All he could do was change the location an hour before the set meeting providing the scantest semblance of security, but the resulting ire sprouting across Edward's face at least brought John some much needed, if fleeting, satisfaction. As always, Finch came up with an alternate venue about ten blocks over in a building currently closed for renovation.

Rehashing the debacle only put Reese further on edge, and as luck would have it, with good reason when everything suddenly plunged into total darkness.

"Oh my God! What's happening?" Each man shouted his own distressed version.

"Everyone, stay here. I'll check it out." Reese calmly ordered while using his phone to light his way to the hall while drawing his gun at the same time.

"Finch? We just lost power."

"I'm aware Mr. Reese, the power outage is encompassing more than just your building, it's all the surrounding ones as well. I'm accessing the city's power grid to pinpoint the cause..."

"Did you see anything before it happened?" Reese hurried down the hall, pausing to crack open the staircase.

"No it was all clear."

"Well I've got movement on the south side stairs."

It was nearly pitch black as he ran back down the hall to the other illuminated emergency exit sign. "Dammit! North stairs too. Is there another way out?"

Finch frantically pulled up the building's schematics, not finding an alternative until a maintenance schedule caught his eye. "You're not going to like it."

"I ready don't it... What do you have?"

"Directly across from the meeting room is an outdoor garden lounge and balcony. It's undergoing some renovations. There should be scaffolding with an equipment lift just over the balcony's edge."

"Convince five limo-jockeys, whose idea of an adrenalin rush is a hole-in-one, to jump off the sixth floor onto a suspended elevator... This should be fun," he humorlessly laughed. "Might be easier to deal with whoever's coming up the stairs."

"Perhaps try the truth Mr. Reese."

John burst into the conference room without hesitating, "you're all in danger. There are men heading this way from both ends of the building to kill you. Come with me right now or die."

The blunt urgency seemed enough to rattle the men into argue-less compliance as they quickly followed John across the hall.

"Mr. Reese, your deliverance skills could use some... refinement." Finch delicately offered.

"Your suggestion." Reese smoothly reminded while wrangling the last of the panicking board members through the double doors and out into the biting winter air.

"I don't understand... Where are we going?" One man blurted.

"Why are we here? This is a sky garden."

"We're trapped!"

One by one the terrified group challenged the hopeless location with mounting anxiety.

"Not a standard one, no." Reese looked over the edge and wickedly grinned back at the five blanching faces as his intention became clear. "This or them? It's your choice."

Finch cringed with empathy. To have so many unlucky innocents endangered alongside their Numbers was always something they worried about and tried to avoid. In John's defense he'd truly tried. But both Edward and Anthony held true to their intractable reputations and gave him little choice. "Mr. Reese... if you explained how safe the elevator really is?"

John nearly shook his head at Finch's suggestion, but looked straight at Anthony, "It's safe. You first - to help them."

Finch rolled his eyes with John's version of a supportive encouragement and gave up, deciding to concentrate on getting back-up power to the security systems.

"This is crazy!" With a sheet-white swallow, Anthony climbed over the wall and dropped onto the swaying lift deck.

Reese ushered the next two eldest men, helping them slip over the wall with Anthony's support from bellow.

Edward cringed, sending John a horrified look of questioning disbelief as he hesitated at the wall. "Can it hold us all?"

"That's what it's designed to do." John had no real idea, but managed to sound convincing even to his own ears.

"I should have fired you." Edward nervously vowed.

"We survive this... you're more than welcome to." he said lowering the cantankerous man just as the garden's doors flung open.

Bullets chipped and ricocheted off the wall to either side of Reese and right where Edward had been only seconds before.

Reese turned and grabbed the last remaining man, hurling them both to the ground behind a stone flowerbed. "Stay down!"

He fired his 1911 in the direction of the muzzle-flashes. In the pitch black, accuracy was out the window, he could only hope to buy some time, but a high-pitch scream suggested he'd at least winged one of them.

It didn't do much to slow the descending onslaught. He made about six shooters, maybe seven shooters.

"Listen," Reese shouted to grab the man's attention, "there should be a panel with a toggle switch that'll make the lift lower. I'm going to draw their fire.., when I do, you get over that wall and get them out of here!"

The fifty-something man slowly nodded in obvious shock.

"Say you understand." Reese insisted.

To his credit, the man looked him in the eye, focused and collected himself into a sprinters crouch. "I understand!"

"Ready..." Reese pulled his second weapon from his belt. "NOW!"

John caught the man's take off, but couldn't track him beyond that, his hands were full laying down aggressive cover-fire while darting up the gauntlet of stone planters, benches and status toward their attackers.

Reese now counted considerably less shooters as he slammed against the thick ivy covered column closest to the entry doors.

"Mr. Reese, are you alright?"

What scant light the distant city offered was far from helpful to pinpoint the remaining gunmen; the whistling winds didn't help either, but despite the hinderances and their attackers best efforts, the penetrating drone of the lift's motor left a victorious smile across Reese's face. "They're on their way, Finch." Now he could devote his full attention to what was left of their would-be killers.

"You're not with them?" Finch questioned in alarm.

"They've got me pinned at the moment."

Shots bit into the pillar Reese used as cover, but he couldn't pinpoint their position. It was just too dark. "Anything you can do about some lights?"

"Almost... Mr. Reese..." John could hear the frustration in Finch's voice as he crouched lower. "Unfortunately restoring full power is more than I can do from here, but..."

A sudden red glow bathed the garden area. "That's all I needed Harold."

With the telling hue, Reese caught the skulking silhouettes of the formerly hidden men.

"Mr. Reese. With the building's back up generators back up, I have some camera control. And I've detected two more gunmen. It appears they have positioned themselves on the second floor and in the direct path of the lift."

Reese didn't hesitate. Leading with both his 45 and backup 9mm, he stepped from around the concrete corner with a rapidly squeezed volley of shots, while advancing on the last gunmen.

The battle ceased with strangled gurgles. "Where's the lift now?"

"I don't have a clear enough angle to be sure.., fourth floor? I've already notified the Detectives. Will we be needing an ambulance?"

"Not up here. These didn't give me much choice. We'll see if the last ones are any smarter." Reese was already running when he dialed one of the Wrights. "It's Flint. I need you to stop the lift."

"What?!" Anthony yelled above the screaming winds." You have any idea how crazy it is out here? We're on a swing not an elevator!"

"Some of those men are waiting just bellow you. They don't care how bad it is, only that you are dead. This will all be over soon, I promise. Just stop the lift."

"Ok, oh god hurry!"

Reese could barely make the last words over the scrapping metal and howl.

"Mr. Reese. Not to pressure you, but the winds have risen to a perilous level."

"I'm almost there." He breathlessly relayed while descending the stairs three at a time. "This won't take long."

.-

Reese moved soundlessly over the short-cropped carpeting of the reaching hallway. The center offices were about ten yards down on the left, and right where the lift would be traveling.

"Mr. Reese, they are in the tenth room on your left."

Reese could now hear discernible banter floating from the suspected location. "Finch

"Got em." He whispered.

"No mistakes this time dammit! Hold steady. This has to be perfect."

"I caught a bullet you prick!"

"You'll catch a lot more if you fuck this up!"

"Hey it wasn't me that missed that crazy ass escape route, or the fact that they had some Rambo super-soldier with them... So fuck-off!"

"Would you shut-the-hell-up and concentrate! They'll be in range any second."

Reese slipped into the room slightly entertained by the insult slinging men. He half expect them to turn on each other before he could finished the job, but wouldn't count on it. "If you girls are done.., maybe you could drop your weapons?"

But as expected, and true to thug-form, neither chose the 'smart' way and spun their weapons on Reese.

Reese ducked the rapid barrage of shots tearing into the furniture around him, then laid down and returned low fire from under the heavy oak desk.

A scream filled the room mixing with a wild spray of automatic fire cutting from floor to ceiling in consuming agony.

"One down, one to go," Reese mused ducking the remaining man's ripping hail. "Finch do these rooms connect?"

"The north side does. Yes."

Reese backed into the hall, shaking off the drywall chunks as he raced to the adjoining room. He burst through the connecting door and came up right behind where the gunman was dug-in.

The look of surprise on the thugs face was priceless. "I wouldn't." Reese warningly whispered, "Drop it."

"Fuck you!" The last perp blurted, but instead of the expected retaliatory gun aimed at him, the man took off toward the window while shooting the glass.

Reese lunged with a swiping grab just as the attacker jumped out.

John looked over the ledge, and drew his face in painful disgust. Sure, he'd jumped out of his fair share of windows and two stories was certainly doable, but not when a forest of exposed rebar served as your landing pad.

"Finch, last guy's no longer a threat." Reese blinked against the freezing rain now pelting his face. "Text Anthony before this weather finishes what the hit team didn't."

"I take that to mean he doesn't need an ambulance either?"

"More like a pitchfork. But this guy..," Reese returned to his first victim, "might trade some answers for an ambulance. Let's put that to the test."

The semi conscious man grunted as Reese propped him up against the desk, "Lets have a chat." Reese smiled a borderline snarl. "Tell me who you're working for."

The man's standard black clothes which gave away no more secrets than the tight-lipped thug.

"I'm not saying a word."

"Who are you protecting? I'm willing to beat they're not gonna return any favors when you get hauled off by the cops. In fact, they might even want to tie up that looses like the last guy. Lot of accidents in the prison hospital." John shook his head in mock concern. "Or maybe I should just save the tax payers some money and end you now?" Reese pressed his gun muzzle into the man's gut.

"The Russians."

Reese frowned in doubt. "You're not Bratva."

"The mob hired me."

"What are the contract details?"

"I've already said too much. They'll kill me!"

"I'll kill you." Reese calmly promised the lie. "Who contracted you?"

"Some guy, a local hit broker. I never see his face, but he said the Russians were paying good money for the hit. Gave us an envelope, with a phone, and third of the money. Said to be ready when we got the call." He clenched his teeth against the pain of his bleeding wound.

"How can I find this guy?" Reese pressed.

"You don't. He finds you. I'm telling you the truth!"

"I know." Reese then gave him a crooked grin before knocking him cold and zip tying his hands. "Finch? They down yet?"

"Nearly and none too soon. And to answer you're unasked question... no. I haven't found any current reason the Russians would want to eliminate the Wrights. Oh dear..."

"What now?"

"I believe reinforcements just arrived." Finch concernedly continued. "Two cars just pulled up, parking on opposite sides of the street, about one hundred feet from the garage entrance. I'm sending the plates to the Detectives..."

"A mop-up crew, how embarrassing."

"Jokes aside, at the moment they seem to be just waiting."

"Probably waiting to box us in when we pull out. Finch, I don't know who those guys are out there, but the one's I just took care of are not Russian. This many, if they had been, we'd all be dead. The syndicate hand picks assassins straight from the Spetsnaz program. These guys were a bunch of local amateurs."

"Though comforting as that was meant to be Mr. Reese, I just received the information back on the cars, they belong to a rental company and one of many used as a front by the Russians. For all we know there maybe be two car-fulls of the aforementioned assassins, Mr. Reese."

"Only one way to find out."

"John, you don't mean to take them on? I'm sure waiting for the NYPD's presence will help dissuade their advances."

"Chasing them off won't help us get answers. No, I have something _else_ in mind..."

By the anticipation in John's tone, Harold was fairly certain what he was planning was something _in-delicately _destructive.


	14. Chapter 14

Finch caught sight of Reese exiting the building with one of the exterior security cameras. There was no hesitation in his step as he headed straight for the heavy-duty truck parked in the service ally a few feet out.

The whipping winds forced the icy rain against him; John almost felt sorry for what their Numbers must have gone through, trapped on the rickety lift, but then remembered their righteous indignation with a trumping shrug.

The truck's locks posed little problem for John, who slim-jimmed in just as fast as if he'd had a key, and had the large power plant sparking to life with the same hot-wiring efficiency.

He kept a steady fix on the mob cars in his rearview mirror, catching no movement through their darkly tinted windows as he disabled his airbag.

But Reese knew they were watching, watching and questioning the validity of a guy-in-a-suit getting into a work truck at this hour. It won't matter. Whatever they thought wouldn't change their plans. They were here for one reason and wouldn't act or risk their _perceived_ advantage until their targets were well in position.

John smiled at the predictability of the criminal mind. They were going to wait until the Wrights pulled out, then trap the limo between the two, gun-wielding cars in a kill-box. Simple and unimaginative, but messily effective none-the-less, he mused no longer able to ignore the blasting rain hitting the cab roof. "Might want to turn your volume down for this, Harold."

"John..." Finch's question hung, unasked with the skittering scuff of tires and revving roar of the truck now accelerating down the rain slicked ally. Mr. Reese had the metal beast hurling backwards at breakneck speed, while Harold cringed with dread at the very notion.

Bellowing plums of steam spewed from the cold exhaust, swallowing the truck in an obscured charge as John aimed it straight at the vehicle lurking across the street.

Finch held his breath, watching the scene unfold. What would come next, already had his body bracing with bone snapping expectancy. Reese however, knew what repercussions befell a tense, bowstrung body and exhaled, willing himself to relax while counting on the exact opposite from his targets.

Finch jumped, whether by the physically felt crack at hearing it or a visual response by seeing the truck deeply embedded into the side of the mob car, he'd never know. But the impact clearly rippled through both vehicles with the destructive conviction of the piling tonnage before stopping with a final bounce.

Reese used his arms to shield his face against the shattering spray of razored glass that now coated the cab. Pieces fell from his arms as he unbuckled his belt and shook off the ringing haze and stepped from the truck. That was all the time he had.

Bullets swept across the truck, stealing any luxury of recuperation and forced him into immediate action. Shed debris crunched under his feet as he ducked behind the motor, narrowly avoiding the hail of bullets starting at the grill and working their way over and along the truck, mercilessly traveling along the entire wreckage as the second mob car streaked its escape in the pinning vail of automatic fire.

Bracing over his hood, Reese worked to blink away the numbing rain and lingering effects of the crash and fired into the lowered windows of the speeding car.

The car erratically swerved, clipping a mailbox and confirming some internal damage, yet still manage to hang the corner in a final getaway.

"Mr. Reese! Are you alright?" After the drive-by, he'd lost Mr. Reese from any of the camera views.

"I'm fine Harold." Reese coughed the reply.

"Well I must say, subtlety is surely not your strong suit, Mr. Reese."

"You didn't hire me to be gentle, Finch."

"Point well taken. How have our additions fared?"

"They were ok before their buddies turned the car into a cheese grater. Guess they prefer silent partners." Reese looked over the smoldering wreck while cautiously approaching the T-boned four-door. He squinted against the rain and spewing fluids hemorrhaging from the twisted vehicle, while bent sheet-metal popped and groaned in complaint over the newly forced shape, but could still pick up a faint moan from the shredded interior.

"Looks like someone's still alive."

One out of three perps moved, stupidly pulling up his weapon. "Bad idea, and you've had enough of those for one night." Reese calmly explain from behind his pointed 45 and relieved the thug of the uzi.

John tiled he head, looking passed the surviving man. The trigger man in the front seat slumped against the door frozen in open-eyed shock after a row of bullet holes cut across his upper body. The driver, he doubted, was any better off judging by the missing chunk of forehead. "The other two no longer posed a threat."

John reached passed the barely coherent man and collected another assault rifle from across his lap. By some stroke of luck, this guy had escaped most of the bullets, but not the passenger door window.

"Wh-oo-o are you?" The man stammered.

"Parking enforcement. You realize you're parked in a No-Kill Zone." Reese enjoyed the look of baffled bewilderment - icing on the cake - while he kept the guy off-balance and talking."Who are you working for?"

"You're... in..insane!"

"It's been said... Who hired you?"

"Russians... Please, I n-n-eed help..." The injured man pleaded.

"After you answer my questions." Reese leaned closer. "Your buddies just tried to kill you, which means you have something to say." John bore his teeth in a sinister smile. "Guy in the front seat looks like range target, and I can see what your driver's thinking... so unless you want to end up like them, you might wanna try again."

"Rourke... Our co...coordin..ator for Russians..." The man weakly strung together.

"How do I find Rourke?"

The man shook his head with a swallow. "Don't know... no one does."

The man was fading fast, so Reese smacked his cheek. "Hey! How does he contact you?"

"You get a text... then more... instruc...tions." The perp's eyes remained closed this time.

The gunman sagged in silence leaving Reese to mull the information, while he collected anything that might help with the new lead, and gave the men a cursory look for tattoos he knew he won't find. "Finch?"

"I heard Mr. Reese."

"It's not much to go on, but maybe you can find something on their phones about this hit coordinator, Rourke. I grabbed a phone off one of the upstairs guys too." Reese pause. "But I can tell you for sure, these guys aren't Bratva, just more lowlife independents."

"If we can find the broker, he could very well lead us to who's behind this." Finch hopefully remarked.

"You have eyes on our Numbers?"

"Yes. In fact they've all had eyes on you, no doubt admiring your... innovative handy-workfrom the lobby."

"Well, maybe this'll make it easier to convince them to lay low." Reese bore the look of concerned contemplation while heading to the limo. "Finch? Did you pick up any outgoing calls or texts after we changed the meeting?"

"No. Nothing."

"We weren't followed, so someone fed these hit-teams our location almost as fast as we planned it. You're sure the board members checked out?"

"I found nothing on any of them. I can see if perhaps one of the emails was intercepted..."

"Ok, because we're missing something."

"What are your thoughts Mr. Reese?" But Finch already knew.

"Our Numbers may not be the victims."

"Father and son trying to killed each other? I've considered it too, but they've both been nearly killed, together, three times now. We've had them closely monitored and I've hatched their financials, phone records, and all their email and social media accounts, there have been no untoward overtures from either of them, at least not with respect to each other."

"I don't know, something just doesn't add up." Reese shook his head. "What I do know, is we can't take them back home. We need to get them to a safe-house, something close, and before someone else shows up."

"I agree. I just sent you the nearest location."

Reese pulled the limo right up to the front of the building and held the car door for the two frozen, haggard, and drenched Numbers as they beelined to safer teritory. Before either could speak Reese slammed the door.

With the privacy window in place, Reese hooked the limo around toward the safe-house and freely spoke, "one thing still doesn't make sense."

"Only one, Mr. Reese?" Finch ironically laughed.

"The Russians don't use brokers, they have their own people to do their dirty work, and a hell of a lot more skilled than these guys. Why would someone be trying to make it look like the Russians are behind this? There have to be a million _less dangerous_ bears to poke."

"Then you don't believe the Russians are involved?"

"The syndicate is shrewd, calculating and tend to keep things in-house. This was just way to obvious and sloppy. That second car knew it too, that's why they tried to silence their compromised guys."

"Our real killers may be using the higher profile organization to misdirect the spotlight."

"Dangerous spotlight_.._. Soon as the Russians catch wind of it, it won't be just us and the cops hunting them. " John rubbed his neck starting to feel the wet-cold seeping through his coat. "We have to find out how they're getting their info; like this... we're just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Oh, and Finch. I sent you a text of some things I need."

"I've already sent it, along with some dry clothes for our guests." Finch had to admit Reese was right. Thus far they were running neck-and-neck with the attacks, each one displaying a precognition to the event, and never leaving more than scant or disjointed clue that coalesced into nothing.


	15. Chapter 15

Reese tapped his ear bud. "Lionel."

"Guess where I am?"

"I'm a little busy for games." Reese huffed keeping a sharp eye on the surrounding roads as he sped toward the safe-house.

"Yeah, I'm standing in the middle of your idea of 'busy.' Does it _ever_ occur to you to leave a few live ones for questioning?"

"Isn't my fault they keep walking into my bullets, and the jumper should'a looked down first. You find anything useful?"

Fusco wrinkled his face at being reminded of that mess. "Honestly, with this size of this hit squad, I'm surprised I'm not finding bits-n-pieces of you - but no. So far looks like a bunch of nobodies, low-level guns-for-hire with no real affiliation. Nothing that connects them to any mob, but I'll know more once I get back to the precinct."

"Let me know if you do." Reese couldn't help himself. "You hear from your partner?"

"Yeah, she's heading back from chasing a now-where lead on O'Connor's girlfriend, but apparently somethings got her spoked and in the wind."

"You ever hear of a local hit-broker, goes by the name of Rourke?"

"Rourke?. Can't say that I have, but that don't mean much. Guys like that can have a few aliases and know how to stay in the shadows. You get a description?"

"Guy died before I got anymore."

"Jeez... Thugs nowadays. Well I'll see if any of my CIs know anything. He the one driving these guys?"

"Yeah, but more importantly he can tell us who hired him." A pounding knock on the limo's privacy divider ended his short escape from the impending barrage of questions. He'd been ignoring the limo intercom from the start, pretending it didn't work, but he would be pushing it now. "Fusco, let me know if you find anything... Mr. Wright?"

"What the hell are you playing at! This isn't the way home. Where are you taking us?"

"I'm afraid you're home isn't safe. We're heading to a safe-house in the city."

For a moment Reese wondered if Edward might explode, with his face turning three shades of red, it might very well save him the trouble of rescuing him. But his sputtered attack died with Anthony's interruption. "Dad, hold on. Do you know who those men where?"

"More like who they weren't." Reese caught both men's contorted reflections in his mirror and continued. "Someone wants us to believe they're with the Russian mob."

"Those filthy bastards killed my Mom!"

"They weren't Russians, just hired to pose as them." Reese reiterated.

"You can't know that for sure! It's not like they'd tell you the truth even if you put a gun to their heads!" Edward all but spit the words.

In his typical warning calm Reese tried again, "I put a gun to their heads and believe me when I say these guys aren't with the Russians. I've dealt with them - I know. " Reese left it at that.

"They how did they find us? Why is this happening?" Edward shook his head. "None of this makes any sense. There haven't been any demands... It's just been one attack after another. What do they want?"

_Your heads on a platter... _"Something you did finally pissed off the wrong person." Reese bluntly slung his abbreviated response. He was frustrated and honestly tired of the poor-me act. They were far from innocent and at the very least, knew more than they were letting on about who might be after them.

The fact that the machine kicked out a mixes of victims and perpetrators didn't help matters either. For all they knew, both the Wrights had secret agendas, but as usual it was up to them to decipher the truth and sort the evidence. The lack of both was the real clincher.

After looping and back tracking a few times for good measure, Reese finally pulled the limo into the safety of the giant garage and waited for the door to close behind them. "Stay in the car."

John disarmed the alarm and moved through the house with stealth and quick purpose. "Finch we're here, house is clear, but for how long is the question."

"I still haven't found anything and I'm honestly at a loss Mr. Reese."

"Makes two of us. Where are counter measures I asked for?"

"In the master bedroom along with clothes for all of you."

"Thanks."

"You believe they've been bugged then?"

"It's the only thing I can think of."

"Frankly Mr. Reese, I'm not sure which would be worse. If they are bugged it means they're likely innocent, but the threat will most certainly already be privy to you're location. And if they aren't... we're no closer to an answer but with mounting distrust toward our Numbers."

"Finch, there's a third scenario," Reese liked less. "Parts of both wrapped in subterfuge. Bugs used not to mark a target.., but as a mark to avoid."

"A most disturbing thought Mr. Reese, but one which at this point is impossible to prove with certainly. Until we know for sure, we can not change our course of action."

With a slow acknowledging blink, Reese gathered the bags, "I know."


	16. Chapter 16

Before saying a word, Reese entered the garage with a hurried focus, setting up and switching the signal scramblers on. If they were bugged, he didn't need them broadcasting the discovery.

"The house is clear, but we need to take care of somethings first. Here." Reese tossed them each a duffel bag. "Change and put all your old clothes in the bag - everything."

They each caught the bags with looks of surprise and confusion. "What? This is absurd! You can't be serious!" Edward huffed at John's intolerable orders and uncouth behavior.

"Look, your clothes are soaked and probably bugged."

"Bugged? As in spy stuff?" Anthony asked beginning to slowly peel off his frozen layers.

"Yes." Reese responded with a clipped tone concentrating instead on adjusting his detection system. "Someone's getting information on your whereabouts as fast as you get there."

"But how on earth could we not know if we're bugged?"

"Believe me, it's possible."

The series of lights and numbers flashing across the screen meant nothing to the two billionaire business men striping in the strange garage, but to Reese, it screamed volumes. Grabbing the handheld sweeper he waved it over the discarded pile of clothes to pinpointed each source.

"My shoe!?" Edward watched in paling horror as John sliced the heel off the $2800 Derbys.

"I'm guessing these are new?"

"Yes." He distraughtly answered. "Custom ordered."

"I'd say they're custom alright." John pulling the bug from inside the heel, flipping in over to get a better look before moving onto the wallets that caused spiked readings. "Both your watches too." He ordered and pulled each credit card from its slot.

"Oh my god! You've got to be kidding me!" Anthony stammered with the discovery of the odd-looking credit card.

"Can you think of anyone that might have had access to your wallets?"

Anthony scrunched his face in contemplation. "The house staff certainly... or maybe at the spa, range or country club lockers."

That didn't help. Reese continued to sweep both men and found another in Edward's watch and concealed in Anthony's belt buckle.

John cocked his head with the unexpected chirp in his ear. "Mr. Reese, ours is the only frequency unaffected by your scrambler, but I'm afraid the damage has already been done. You are not alone."

A creek from the side porch confirmed Finch's warning and halted John's moments. "We've got company." Reese whispered to their Numbers. "Get back in the car and stay down, until I get back." Reese urgently ordered.

Terror ghosted across the men's faces as father and son hunkered in the back of the limo to the sudden shatter of windows coming from inside the house.

Reese pulled his gun and cautiously hurried inside. "How many do you see Finch?"

"Five within camera view so far."

"Only five... think they're running out of guys?" John whispered. "Hold on, got one..."

The intruder was cocky. He didn't even attempt to mask his lumbered gait, stomping down the hall, while brandishing his sawed-off shotgun with untouchable pride.

_Idiot. The crime world was seriously beginning to lack good help._ Reese had to keep from rolling his eyes at the cavalier display, and opted to just shoot him in the kneecaps.

The perp hit the ground with a wailing scream.

_Guess the chip on his shoulder was a lot lower,_ Reese mused, ducking deeper into the shadows in wait.

A second and third hit-man worked their way down the hall. They jerked their guns from side to side in nervous anticipation of another attack from whomever took down their cohort.

_They'd be right,_ Reese thought, stepping out with a downing cross-hook at the nearest man's head followed by a quick gunshot to the leg of the second. "Three down Finch. We still at five?" He asked stepping passed the growing pile of thugs with a satisfied smirk.

"Another two have joined the remaining man outside and are currently moving toward the garage, but I'm certain I saw a fourth enter the house."

As if in answer, a shadowed figure leapt down from the stairwell knocking Reese from behind and into the wall. Reese kicked backwards, stopping the attacker's advance, with a high snap-kick to his ribs before collecting for another round.

The assailant mirrored John's assault, shooting a series of blinding punches and blocks with discernibly elegant style. As tactless as the first men had been, the fourth proved to be the opposite, definitely schooled with a certain military or government background. It had been awhile since Reese actually enjoyed an equal hand-to-hand adversary.

His tactics had been shrewd as well, sacrificing the other men in convenient distraction to both measure John's abilities and home-in on where the targets might be stashed.

"Must get old?" Reese baited between deflected punches as they moved toward the kitchen.

"What does?"

"Being stuck babysitting such sub par men." John baited.

"You have no idea!" The larger man responded both verbally and with the smooth execution of jarring jabs that cost Reese his gun.

Reese retaliated with his own expertly thrown punches, forcing a change in direction away from the garage. "So why the Wrights?" Reese bit between blows.

"Don't know," the man grunted flipping John back into the kitchen and against the refrigerator, "and don't care."

"Money out weigh ethics?" Reese hurled a cutting board at the man's head, lunging for him as he ducked the distraction.

Barely catching Reese's driving shoulder, the man hit the wall with a snarling grunt. "Never been... one to... care, but would've... asked... for... more money..," He rasped while spinning an elbow in frustration at Reese's dead-eye reflexes. "...if I'd known there'd be real resistance."

"So what were you? Delta, Special Forces?"

The man laughed grabbing Reese by his shoulders and pulling him into a hiking knee-kick to his side. John grunted with the impact, but didn't miss the perfect opening to strike an upward punch to the Merc's now exposed cluster of armpit nerves.

"Aghh!" The man yowled staggering against the wall clutching his now numb and useless arm. "Nice move, obviously you were." He ground.

"Something like that. So who hired you?"

"You know how this works. I'm just told when and where... only the how is up to me - the rest you don't ask."

"And the Russians? How do they factor into this?" Reese bent forward, catching his breath with one hand on his knee while the other held his throbbing ribs.

"Hell if I know." The mercenary panted. "The whole thing seems thin, but figured maybe the mob wanted credit for the hit, just without the dirty work. Anyway what do I care as long as I get paid. So now that we're _best friends_, can I just kill you guy already?"

"You're welcome to try." Reese squared his stance. "But better make it quick, I really need to get going."

The man didn't seem to find the humor in John's taunting and unruffled response as he fixed him with a dark glower. Without warning, the hit-man pulled a large fitted-blade knife and sent it on a straight course for Reese.

John twisted just as the blade grazed along his coat and stuck into the oak cabinet behind him with a springing thud.

When Reese turned back the assassin was already heading through the garage door.

Reese picked up his gun in a running swipe and immediately forced back by two shots to the kitchen door frame. "Dammit," he rolled his eyes, then drew the limo keys from his pocket. At least the Wrights were locked behind bullet proof glass, he inhaled with relief, and pressed the key's panic button.

The empty garage echoed the deafening screech of the limo's siren while it's flashing lights provided the perfect strobing distraction. Reese spun into the doorway, took aim and clipped the surprised perp twice in the shoulder.

John shut off the alarm, "told you I couldn't stay long." He smiled a crooked grin, stepping passed the man and opened the door.

"And truly Mr. Reese you may not want to." Finch stressed.

"Let me guess, another wave of bad guys?"

"I've already alerted the authorities."

"It's too late for that. Call Carter, have her meet us across from the precinct."

"To what end?"

"We need to hide them someplace more public while we figure out our next move. These hit-squads are crawling from under every rock in New York - I can't keep dodging them all." Reese started the engine, "hope your insurance is paid up."

Finch cocked his head in question until he heard the limo released into a tire pealing launch. Harold watched the blindsiding escape with wide-eyed shock as it burst through the garage door in a crumpling blast of twisted sheet metal and plastic.

Two hit-men failed to get clear of the fleeing car before being buried by the hurling debris. The third opened fire, pinging 5.56 rounds off the reenforced metal and glass.

Reese whipped the wheel, spinning the beastly vehicle into a full 180 with a fluidity the giant car simply shouldn't have been capable of. He punched the gas with a lurch, narrowly missing the second van already unloading a hail of bullets as they streaked passed.

"Finch, we're clear." John frowned into the mirror. "For now..."

"Are they pursuing you?"

"Looks like. Hold on..." John slide the large vehicle around a few sets of snow-covered streets before finding a long plowed stretch that wouldn't give their route away so easily. The hard packed ice of a laundry mat's ally served just as well to hide a quite reversing path to conceal the monstrously long car.

Reese waited silently prepared for another fight as the pursuing van flashed passed the mouth of the ally, but luckily in an oblivious blur. "We're clear Harold. You get a hold of Carter?"

"I did. She's waiting for you. Did you find any listening devises?"

"A few, they both had various GPS trackers and a burst transmitter."

Finch perked up with the findings. "If we're lucky I may be able to trace the sim card the transmitter back to its linked operating phone."

"'_If we're lucky...' _I had enough time to find and disabled all the bugs so we can get ten feet without another escort."

"With out saying Mr. Reese. Your previous pursuers have indeed left the area. I've been tracking them via traffic cams in hopes that we may learn something from their destination. Additionally, I had an idea..." Finch hesitated leaving the conversation hanging.

Reese waited narrowing his eyes. "You gonna share? Or make me guess?"

"...regarding removing the Wrights from such easy reach while affording us the time to research your newly found clues. But it maybe best to speak in person."

"Be there soon as I can." Reese shook his head vigilantly navigating toward the precinct. _Man loves his cryptic explanations. _


	17. Chapter 17

Carter shook, drawing her coat to her body in tighter defense against the large temperature change between the heated precinct and the alcove she now used as refuge.

She'd gotten the call from Finch about fifteen minutes ago. A call, she wasn't sure what she felt about. Babysitting wasn't really in her job description, but then again, neither was playing an on-again-off-again sidekick to New York's most-wanted vigilante.

A frosty wind whirled around her, causing an eerie shiver to crawl up her spin. She looked up at the brewing skies, but it was the prickling itch of her scars that warned of a deeper danger then just this storm. _Things were going to get a lot worse, s_he worried and promptly let a berating humph escape her chattering lips for borrowing trouble.

That's when the long, black, pockmarked limo pulled along the sidewalk. The window rolled down before it came to a full stop. "You look cold Detective."

"Wonder why?" Her chattering punctuated the remark.

"Get in."

Even in the darkness she could see that mischievous twinkle in John's eye.

Carter let her's slide shut in sheer appreciation of the thawing heat. "So, how the hell are these guys finding you?" She caught John watching her with a predatory glean. Damn him and those looks. It sent a shiver of a _different kind_ coursing through her body, which she hid. She'd gotten good at it, but when he looked at her like that.., it was really hard to keep up the neutral charade. "Sounds like it was another messy ambush."

"They've been using bugs."

"They clean now?"

John shrugged, "I think so. We were sort of interrupted, and my equipment," he directed his eyes to the damaged scanner lying on the seat, "took one for the team before I could double-check."

Carter gave him a slight empathetic look. "Same guys?"

He nodded. "Like last time: bunch of hired cowboys that fancy themselves as assassins got their asses kicked."

"Looks like one of them managed to land a few shots." Without realizing, Carter reached out and brushed her finger tips over the bloodied bruises above John's eyebrow, before pulling her disobedient hand back to her lap.

Reese closed his eyes and nearly leaned into her whispering touch, for a split second wishing he could accept her offered comfort. Another life maybe. "They actually had a pretty proficient leader this time. He didn't reveal much except that they were sent there by whoever's monitoring the transmitted information."

"Can Finch track them from the bugs?"

"You'd have thought it was Christmas. So, he seems to think so."

Carter laughed. "The precinct should be shielded, but I don't think they'll have the guts to set foot in a police station."

"No. That's why it's the only place we can stash them while we figure out our next move. The hardest part now is gonna be keeping them in it."

"Don't worry. I can handle them..."

"Of _that_ I have no doubt." He smiled and rolled down the privacy window. "You remember Detective Carter." Reese directed the statement to his passengers. "You'll be under her protection at the precinct, while I make some new arrangements."

"Arrangements? What kind of arrangements?" Edward puffed at the unconscionable turn of events. "No offense Detective, but this is intolerable! Deplorable conditions meant for common criminals and beneath us. This is not what I'm paying you for Mr. Flint! There must be more suitable places other than being held at a police station!" He rattled with complete disdain.

She didn't care who he was. Carter raised her eyebrows in angered amusement at the blatant insults that always followed 'no offense,' and turned to tear into the man when Reese spoke in a vicious whisper.

"The Detective has gone out of her way to offer you her protection. Unless you'd rather deal with the next ambush on your own, I suggest you show her some respect. And don't forget - technically you aren't paying me Mr. Wright - you fired me remember." Reese reminded. "So until I have a safer location for you, sit tight, and play nice."

Contempt oozed from every frowning crack on Edward's face at his condescending treatment, but luckily remained silent.

Anthony however, was tempting fate. "Secure?!" Doubt edged his accusatory tone. "Where? What makes you think the next place will be anymore safe than the last one?"

John's patients were wearing dangerously thin, one more word and he'd be knocking them both out and simply stuffing them in the trunk for safe keeping. It was one thing for them to be short with him, but their gracious-less attitude now involved Carter. Something they'd be smart to discontinue.

"Gentlemen..," Carter recognized the situation reaching an explosive head. "Listen, I've been working closely with _Flint_, he know's what he's doing. I'm sure you're both tired. Let's get you inside, maybe something warm to drink, and go over what we know so far." Not waiting for an answer, she exited the car then turned and bent back inside. "See you _soon,_ John."

Carter's defusing diplomacy was more than he'd expected, but the way she stressed 'soon' along with her '_you-owe-me'_ look pointedly paired with a departing wink, let him know he wasn't off the hook.

Reese stayed, watching as she escorted both the Wrights down the block, until he was sure they'd entered the station without further incident, and to make sure neither bolted for the nearest Ritz.

Such pompous arrogance - but nothing could strike a nerve faster than someone showing Carter disrespect.

He wasn't happy imposing on her as it was, but the frequency of the attacks was getting ridiculous, not to mention they'd run out of ideas. Reese hoped disabling the bugs would slow things down, but there was still the problem of not knowing who was pulling the strings in the first place.

A chirp grabbed Reese's attention. "Yes Lionel."

"You know, I think you have leaving a trail of breadcrumbs confused with bodies."

"And yet they don't lead anywhere..." Reese scowled, annoyed by another of Fusco's analogies.

"I can think of energies better spent." Fusco muttered.

"Do I detect another hint of hypocrisy Detective?"

"I'm just saying, those guys've stepped on a lot of toes. It's no surprise protecting them is causing a lot of damage. And what you '_detect...' _is you guys running me ragged. I would ask for a raise - but oh wait - you don't pay me anything!" Fusco took a breath, holding up an evidence bag containing a piece of paper and opted to trade his rant for the task at hand. "Anyway, nobody knows a thing about this Rourke guy, but I did find an interesting piece of papers on one of these punks. A hand written note with two addresses and two license plate numbers next to each. I just texted it to you. One of the plates matches the van left here, and I think you're intimately familiar with the other two."

**"**The cars outside the office attack. What do you have on the addresses?"

Fusco nodded despite Reese not seeing him. **"**A rental car company downtown and a warehouse of fleet rentals. And guess what... both suspected fronts for the Russians. You still think they aren't involved?"

Reese paused but wasn't swayed. "Not in this. Oh and Fusco..." No matter how much he shared the gut-leveled dislike for entitled, power wielding, extortionists like the Wrights, they didn't have a choice. "We don't choose, it's what makes us better than them."

Reese started the limo and hung up with a quick call-switching tap, "Finch, you make anything of those addresses?"

"Something I wouldn't have expected Mr. Reese. They are owned by Edward Wright."

"Finch. I've got a quick stop to make. Be there soon."

John didn't elaborate as he hung up. They needed some help. "Enemy of my enemy..." Reese mumbled, turning the limo toward the seedier part of town.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's notes*** Sorry guys, house guests are distracting me from posting as fast I as wanted. I'm hiding out at the moment, so have a couple of chapters for you ;-) Hope you enjoy and love the R&Rs!

* * *

A young man, thin and scruffy, maybe in is early twenties was the first to shot up from the card table with the overly anxious zeal of a newbie, while three other older and more seasoned men simply grasped whatever weapons they wore with dangerous calm.

"Who are you?" The youngest of the men barked with forced bravado.

Reese walked into the Russian stronghold with a casual smile and relaxed stride, causing the men to standup from the makeshift poker table in questioning defense against the presence of this brazen intruder. "I'm here to see Ivan Renkinov."

The senior mobster stepped toward him, "you must have a death wish Mudak (asshole.) A problem I can solve."

Reese cocked his head, "not anymore - you could even say I'm happy. But I do have a problem you might be able to help me with. A common problem actually." Reese glibly explained.

A mountainous man, hidden under a bush of facial hair, stepped from around the younger man with a growl. "This is your last warning. Cop."

Reese didn't move. "Ask your boss if he's lost anything lately? Maybe two cars and two vans?" The shifting glances told Reese they knew about the thefts, but not much else.

"He is no cop." From a dark corner, just outside his peripheral view, Reese felt the air change as every man seemed to back down in respectful submission. "I am Ivan Renkinov. I recognize you. You are that vigilante everyone in the city talks about. What do they call you... 'the man in the suit?"

"I was hoping for a cooler name..." Reese shrugged.

Ivan humphed a laugh. "I like you... but why bring this information to me? Stolen vehicles are not your usual concern."

"They are when they're being used in attempted murders."

Ivan looked bored. "We are not responsible for what petty car thieves do, but their sticky fingers will be dealt with. Now, tell me something interesting, or no matter how much I like you, not even the city street sweepers will tell where your suit starts and you end."

Reese grinned at the creative threat. "Someone is using your vehicles and framing the mob for the hits. I'm probably the only person that doesn't actually think you're behind it."

Ivan stepped into the light, closing the distance between he and Reese. His wrinkled eyes and silvery mane were in sharp contrast to his youthful and conditioned physique as he sneered the heavily accented warning. "And who is it that I am supposed to be trying to kill?"

Reese pinned him with an equally dark glare. "Edward and Anthony Wright."

Ivan's humorless laugh echoed throughout the small, smoke-filled room. "Who wouldn't be pleased to see such imperious weasels poached?"

"Yeah, seems to be the common theme, but see, it doesn't make sense that you would, since your buildings are in his name. So what was it? A payment for services rendered ? Or just extortion? Either way you loose them if he dies."

Ivan fixed Reese with narrowing his eyes. "Then you already know, it is not to our benefit to be involved in such a thing. So what is it you want for bringing us this information?"

"Answers. The men that stole your vehicles were hired by a local wet-works contractor known as Rourke. He's a slippery but knowledgable sort, that I don't have time to look for."

"Accusing the Bratva off attacking the Wrights will no go ignored."

"I know this isn't the first time you've heard it, but unlike five years ago, I need him alive."

Ivan shifted in unconscious response while trying to appear unaffected. "Five years is a long time, details get... fuzzy. Let us just say a resolution to our disagreement was found."

"That include the murder of his wife?"

"I think you ask the wrong person these questions. No? Look closely at the timeline of events, there will be your answers."

"Why would someone be trying to make it look like you're behind this?"

"For this I have no clear answer. Hate? Revenge? Jealousy? All are possible, but when we find your Rourke, you will not be the only one asking questions." Ivan took a seat, seeming to evaluate Reese. "Now, it is my turn to be having a question."

Reese gave a slight nod of casual permission.

"You are not like the Wrights. You don't seem to have that... that '_buy-able'_ nature. You have a reputation for stopping crimes, so what I don't understand is why help such dirty, lying svoloch _(scum)_?"

"Because the next time it may be you who needs help... and you wouldn't want me to set my standards too high, would you?"

Ivan released a genuine belly laugh. "You have balls my friend. We will let you know when we find this Rourke."

Reese handed the Russian mob-boss a piece of paper with a number on it. "Like I said, I maybe a little busy. I trust her to get what I want, but I suggest not working him over too badly. Cops don't like that." John delivered the threat in no uncertain terms.

With an smile that could easily have been a snarl, Ivan dismissing waved his hand with a nod. "You keep strange company Mr. Vigilante.., but we have an arrangement. Now go. It is late and we have an early hunt."


	19. Chapter 19

"Mr. Reese. I'm glad to see you survived your ill-advised confrontation with the _entire_ Russian mob." As much as Finch wanted to be angry, relief coated his words as he pushed back from his computer.

"It wasn't the entire mob, Finch, just a few," John calmly offered, "was there any merit to what he said about Edward?"

"Indeed Mr. Reese, a most incriminating timeline of events, that do not bode well for our Number's innocence."

"In what way?"

"Five years ago, Edward started receiving death threats from the Russians approximately two months before his wife's death. And yet a month before, Mr. Wright terminated the lease agreements on various buildings he owned. The same buildings the Russians now occupy. I can't find a single financial transaction or contract pertaining to those buildings since, but as we both know, they have not been left to sit empty. It appears they served as some form of payment."

Reese laughed with humorless irony. "So while we're protecting this guy from pretend Russian hit-teams, he'd been in bed with the real Russians all along and used them to kill his wife. Finch you're really gonna have to tweak the _quality_ filters to your machine."

Finch ignored the last part of Reese's statement, knowing despite his personal feelings it didn't change the fact that someone was trying to kill their Numbers. "Either he was working with the mob as a partner or being extorted. It could sill be possible they threatened more than just his wife?"

"Anthony." Reese walked to the pictures taped to their situation-board. "So he keeps his son alive by not outing the mob, and since he either was, or it looks like he was involved in his wife's murder... they keep him over a barrel. Still doesn't explain who would be throwing the Russians under the bus now."

"Edward may view these attacks as a way to implicate them and escape their hold over him."

Reese prowled in front of the desk. "Edward might be a bastard, but he's smart. He has to know that wouldn't work. The Russians are too big, too spread out to rely on the cops and courts to take them down. They'd just retaliate, and if it's Anthony's life at stake, I doubt even he'd risk it. Besides there's not enough hard evidence to hold Renkinov to this."

"Let's hope you're right Mr. Reese. It would be a very dangerous game with a double edged sword indeed. Although I fail to see how your involving the Russians will help. Won't they just want to see Rourke dead?"

"It's in Renkinov's best interest to find out who's behind this and stop them too. He doesn't want Edward dead, and the only way to stop that is by getting information from Rourke. If they'd found out about him on their own... maybe, but now they know there's more too then a foolish broker. It won't end with Rouke's death and I'm sure they don't that pinned on them too."

Tired, Reese leaned forward placing his hands on the desk and slowly blinked. "Finch, let's face it, there's an endless supply of money-hungry scum in the city.., and skilled or not, they're keeping me pretty busy. It's only a matter of time before I can't get them out. The way I see it, we're running out of options and safe locations - the more eyes we have helping find who's behind this, the better. And no one's more motivated to sniff out our illusive middle-man than the mob he's pissed off."

"Well, lets hope your 'help' leaves something more than incoherent leftovers."

Reese inwardly laughed at Harold's description. "Ivan promised."

Harold met Reese with a doubting purse of his lips. "You'll forgive me if that doesn't instill much faith. At least you were able to convince the Wrights to accept Detective Carter's temporary aid."

John shrugged out of his coat and pulled the bugs from its pocket. "'Not sure _Convince_' is exactly the word I'd use, and Carter may be closer to _incarceration_ than _protection _by now." John admitted, handing the transmitters to Finch.

"In light of our finding, perhaps not an incorrect choice." Harold greedily took the spy hardware, "let's see what we have..."

"Those type of bugs are very precise. I'm thinking they could easily have been used to pinpoint a target to hit, or a target to miss. Making it possible to keep things close enough to look convincing without accidentally getting hit."

"Setting Edward's questionable past aside, they were both bugged, and both repeatedly attacked, so we have no idea if that's the case. A hidden agenda, or they're just victims? We need to know more."

"There's always torture." Reese smiled a half-kidding, half-hopeful grin.

"Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job Mr. Reese, but I was referring to the transmitters."

"Problem is, with the attacks becoming more frequent and aggressive, they might not survive for us to find out, and collateral damage will become an issue. I'm sure the Wright's three board members would agree." Reese worried.

"Which brings me to my earlier idea, Mr. Reese. That now.., seems to have only been made less questionable."

"So what's your idea..?" John's phone chose that moment to ring. "Detective? How are you holding up?"

"Another hour and it might be me that tops your threat list."

"That good huh?"

"They don't seem to understand the meaning of laying-low. One keeps insisting we call him a cab to the Four Seasons. I caught the other one trying to charter a jet! I'm half temped to let them go - be two less pains in our asses. Anyway, Fusco's got them distracted for half a second going over gang member photos."

"Don't worry I'll be there soon. Oh and Carter, you might want to do some quiet digging into the death of Edward's wife. We have reason to believe Edward may have hired the Russians himself."

"They just keep getting better and better."

"Also, you may be getting a call from Ivan Renkinov."

"Renkinov? The mob-boss? Gotta say John, your friends are getting more colorful by the second. Gonna tell me why?"

"He's offered to help find Rourke, the broker doling out the wannabe Russian hit-teams."

"And what - you somehow convinced him to not kill Rourke until you talk to him first?"

"Actually until you talk to him first."

"You've got to be kidding! How?"

"Must be my charmingly persuasive personality."

"Ah huh. Guess I got a taste of that tonight too. Ok just hurry... I think I see Fusco fondling his weapon."

Reese turned back to Finch. "So what's your 'questionable' idea Harold, because if Carter has her way, the Wrights will be a nonissue soon." It was then that Reese noticed the two over stuffed duffel bags peaking from under Harold's desk, along with the slight sheen of perspiration on his face as if he'd been working out. "This plan of yours.., does it involve an extended vacation?"

Finch barely spared Reese a glance as he limped across the room to one of his equipment shelves. "I suppose you could view it that way... however if we don't leave soon I'm afraid the storm with put an end to any hopes of safe travel."

"We, Finch? Traveling where?" Reese couldn't suppress the needling suspicion working its way to the surface. Finch had been extremely evasive about this idea from the start.

"Yes, as in, you will be taking the Wright's to an undisclosed cabin in the Catskill mountains. I will accompany you, separately of course, and will be setting up in a nearby cabin." Finch avoided John's stare, simply pointing the two large bags as he buzzed passed filling a third. "Mr. Reese, would you mind?"

Reese took a deep breath. It was obvious this new plan had Finch outside his comfort zone, whether it was the plan itself or having to deal with his predictable opinion on the subject, he wasn't sure, but it didn't seem to be dissuading Finch's steadfast preparations. "The mountains? That's the plan to keep our Number's safe, because I'm not sure trapping them in the middle of '_no-and-where,'_ in the face of a killer snow storm, can be considered _saving_ them." Reese scoffed. "And why are you going? There's no reason for us both to be up there; it's too risky. Wouldn't it be better for you to stay here when things surface to untangle this mess?"

Finch halted, searching for the right words to convince his partner before meeting John with squared shoulders and piercing conviction. "Everyone of the Wrights' moves have been predicted, and you said yourself, efforts are only escalating. Regardless of their innocence, this time we will be the only ones privy to the location. The worst part of the storm is expected to hit tomorrow. Conventional communication and tracking systems will be down, and with the roads closed, our pseudo-physic perpetrators will in effect be cut off. If the Wrights are involved, their hands will be forced. If they are innocent this will buy the time needed for your Russian friends to find Rourke." Finch paused, breaking their eye contact. "I agree it's not optimal, but frankly Mr. Reese, I'm at a loss as well."

Reese could agree with much of Finch's logic up to his decision to go. "I still don't see why you have to put yourself in the thick of things. It's gonna get challenging. Communication doesn't need to be an issue; we'll just ride out the storm, and when things clear up, you can call us back."

"I disagree. If the tenacity of our perpetrator has proven anything, it's that we should still not leave anything to chance. Depending on the information discovered, the urgency of reliable communication may be paramount. I can do a better job of this on site." In truth, it was more than that. Harold couldn't accept sending Mr. Reese to such an isolated safe-house without backup, but knowing Mr. Reese.., it simply wouldn't help his case to admit it.

"Like you said, Harold, no one knows about it. It's safe."

"'Safe' is a relative term." Finch simply insisted.

"Harold, this isn't exactly going to be what you're used to. What happens if your generator goes out? No power, phones, internet... and wild animals." John mockingly added, desperate to talk his friend out of the foolhardy decision.

Finch masked any lingering doubts with a look of complete annoyance. "Mr. Reese, I am well aware of the challenges weather and remote locations pose, as well as how to get around them. And it isn't the _indigenous_ wildlife that concerns me. Now, if you don't mind," he pointed to the bags again, "time is of the essence."

Finch may not possess his combat skills or physical strength, but when it came to the battle of wills, he had Reese hands down. John gave up with a silent curse and started pulling books from the shelf behind him. With a sulking scowl pulled a hidden bag from its hole and wordlessly set it in front of Harold.

"I'm obviously not gonna win this," Reese spoke in relenting exasperation, "so at least take the transceiver radios as backup; they're encrypted and should penetrate the storm. Our channel is already preset." He paused for a second capturing Bear's intent stare. "And take Bear, he could do with the fresh air."

Begrudging as it may have been, Harold appreciated the gesture, both the satellite phones and admittedly, the comfort of constant communication he'd grown to depend on. As far as Bear was concerned, he'd already planned on taking their faithful friend.

"I'll go pack some necessary provisions and snow gear, unless you already have that in here." John sarcastically groaned while hefting Harold's over loaded bags.

"I can promise you I have not, Mr. Reese." Finch met Reese with a measuring look. "I couldn't begin to imagine your opinion of 'necessary provisions.'"

"Every contingency," Reese smiled, "never know what good bit of trouble we might find."

"That fact that you even use the term _'good'_ to describe trouble shows are differing opinions on the subject. But speaking of trouble... do you have any clever ideas as to how you'll coerce the Wrights to accompany you? Given their recent heel-digging positions, I imagine they won't jump at the idea."

"I'm leaning toward abduction. Black hoods, duct tape, the usual stuff. There could be torture... I haven't decided yet." Reese flippantly smirked.

All too used to John's dark humor Finch ignored him and continued. "I have every confidence you'll find an appropriately _tactful_ form of persuasion."

"Sure... because look how well that worked on you." Reese grumbled, slinging his weapons bags over his shoulders before bending to collect Finch's two just as both their phones rang.

They shared a foreboding look at the unlikely coincidence. "Carter?" John answered.

"There's just been a bomb threat called into the precinct."

John's muscles tightened, "Stay were you are, Joss. They're playing you, trying to get you out in the open. I'm on my way."

"How'd they even know they were here?"

"Either of them leave your sight?"

"Only in the bathroom - didn't trust turning my back on them."

Both Finch and Reese frowned.

"Have them ready at the rear prisoner pickup doors." John instructed.

"If it's them, they're gonna have a sniper or two in place. You don't know where they'll be set up. How are you gonna get close enough?" Carter warned.

"Just be ready to move." Reese was already half way down the stairs.


	20. Chapter 20

He won't be winning any races, or gymkhana rallies, but the six ton armored truck was otherwise a perfect fit for the job. Reese backed the rotund beast down the long prison transfer ramp as close to the doors in back of the NYPD precinct as possible.

Separating the giant from the security yard had been ironically easier than he'd expected. They take so much pride in protecting their clients money with the over engineered tanks, and yet, when it came to protecting their own equipment, it had been a pathetic array of weak alarm systems and severely lacking surveillance. Reese couldn't help wonder if he wasn't actually be doing them a favor by stealing one of the armored trucks. If nothing else it would certainly expose a few flaws.

"Carter, I'm in position just outside the doors. You guys ok?" Reese scanned the area and peered along the buildings' rooftops as best as he could given the falling snow and pitch black skies. If they were out there, he couldn't see them.

Carter's voice held an air of humor and caution. "We haven't blown up, so I guess you were right about their tactics, but it also means they're out there. You see anything?"

"Nothing. But there's not enough light to see a thing." Reese said, having exited the trucking and now waited with the rear doors open.

"Ok, John. We're coming out."

Fusco stepped out first, leading the way for the Wrights closely tucked between he and Carter. With one hand on his gun, and eyes rapidly sweeping the area he motioned them on, toward Reese. "Ok. Hurry it up. It's not safe out..."

The words barely left his mouth when a bullet ripped through the very edge of his jacket's padding with a puff of stuffing. "Shooter!" He yelled and rushed to brace along the truck to return fire.

"Move! Go!" Carter screamed, shoving the men the last few feet to John, who none-too-gently pushed each man inside and out of the line of fire.

Reese slammed the doors shut, "Carter, there's another shooter top right corner!" He yelled, seeing flashes on the rooftop while ducking the resulting shots. "Should'a used muzzle suppressors," he whispered as he stepped around the truck, aimed his rifle and pulled.

Another two shots rang out from somewhere above and to their left, chipping the concrete behind them with high velocity rounds.

"Go. We got this!" Fusco insisted, "Get outta here!"

"When I move, so does your cover! Stay alongside me until we're out of the ally!" Reese ordered.

Between shots, Fusco and Carter fired in the direction of the attack to cover Reese while he made a run for the cab sending another couple shots himself.

John cranked the wheel, put the truck in gear, and let it crawl a careful path out.

The moving wall of reenforced steal shielded and deflected every shot as he neared the front of the precinct and milling crowd of cops. The bomb threat resulted in a distracted mess of evacuating officers, but once shots were fired, the chaos focused, as if the poked hive coalesced into a unified swarm.

As Reese rolled to a stop, Fusco ran off to join the fray while Carter climbed onto the cab's step. "I think we're good, John. It's the gunmen who aren't gonna be too happy now."

"Don't think they gave much thought to how bad of an idea this was."

Carter laughed, "talk about wrong place to pick a fight. You'd better go too, before the frenzy slows down and someone notices the stolen armored truck."

"Borrowed." Reese corrected with an innocent smile before catching her with a more serious look. " Listen Carter, we might be out of reach for a bit. Finch'll call with some with the details, but here."

"Hey!" Fusco rushed back up to the truck. "We have them, two alive, one's toast. I'm gonna say hello. You comin' ?"

"Yeah, be there in a sec." She said turning her attention back to the piece of folded paper in her hand. "What is this?"

"Just in case."

"In case? In case what?" Joss stepped down.

"We need someone to come thaw us out. See you soon Joss, stay safe."

John's penetrating eyes and slight smile spoke the volumes always left unsaid between them, but his words were as vague as ever.

"You too..." She whispered as she watched him drive away feeling an unshakable dread.


	21. Chapter 21

"Mr. Reese, has everyone made it out alright?"

"The Wrights might have varying opinions, but things went smoothly. You already on the road?"

"We are."

"I just need to swap cars, unless you think an armored truck'll make it where we're going?"

"Did you say armored truck?" Finch wasn't sure he'd heard that right, but couldn't discount any outlandish possibilities, anything was likely when it came to Mr. Reese. But most importantly - they usually worked. "Perhaps a bit too cumbersome for our destination."

* * *

They were rounding on 1 o'clock when Reese saw what would most likely be their last stop before trading the hazardous highway for the more treacherous county maintained roads.., or what might pretty soon be closer to goat trails. The weather had been growing worse with each passing mile, much like their Numbers, Reese realized, so a quick stop sounded a hell of a lot more appealing than it should have.

The beginning of the trip hadn't been all that bad; there was a lot to be said for stunned-silence. Unfortunately it hadn't lasted long enough, soon giving up to resounding protests, filling Reese's SUV with a deafening battery of stereo threats and refusals packed with any number of irrelevant reasons why they couldn't, shouldn't, and wouldn't leave the city. Once those ran out, they simply took turns slinging insults.

"This is unheard of! A blatant disregard of authority - you're completely deranged! To head into these mountains in the face of this storm is ludicrous!" Anthony barked.

"You son-of-a-bitch - you kidnapped us! Not sure if you're aware... THAT'S ILLEGAL in America! You're gonna hear from our lawyers... You can bet on that!"

Reese honestly stopped paying attention to most of it, but couldn't deny the validity of a few points. It was risky, but then again so was staying in the city.

With every fuming word, Reese found himself warming to Finch's plan - save the timing coinciding with one of the worst storms of the season. Unorthodox even for them, but is still had its merits. Up to now, they'd been one step behind one hell of a persistent killer, and staged or not.., things needed to change.

Reese purposely kept the details of their destination to himself, which seemed to only spur the enraged tirades, but in the end nothing they said would matter when pitted against the ugly truth.

Reese worked his jaw, relishing the idea of a short break as he pulled into the gas station and shut off the motor. Catching both sets of eyes with an ominous glare he finally spoke. "It's got to be obvious to you by now, that one way or another, your past actions or their consequences have caught up to you, and will see you dead if we stay in the city."

Unfortunately given their usual state of indignant inflexibility, Reese couldn't get a fix on their underlying agendas by their reactions. _Were they angry about loosing control of a nefarious plan, squelched efforts to frame the Russians, or just bent out of shape by the inconvenience of the whole, being-kept-safe thing?_ Reese cocked his head in slight question to his own thoughts, _Maybe all of the above._ "Stretch your legs, use the bathroom, whatever you have to do to get-over-it, and be back in five. Or I bring you back in six."

Reese grinned, savoring the paling looks and blissful quite, actually starting to enjoy inflicting the discomfort of extracting their Numbers so far from their natural habitat when his ear chirped from a text.

**Hw r thgs?**

Reese called him instead, "You know you're not supposed to text and drive Finch."

"Mr. Reese, didn't expect you'd be free. How are the Wrights?"

"Bout how I expected. I'm pretty sure I'm not their favorite person, and I'm definitely fired. Few times over... I think."

"I'm sure it won't tarnish your shinning reputation ."

"I may have threatened them... a little."

Finch just grinned in understanding.

"You make it to your cabin?"

"Bear and I are just leaving the paved road now... we should be loosing cell service shortly. Are you certain your GPS signal jammer is covering the correct bandwidths?"

"It's my back up, but since no one's tried running us off the road yet - I'd say so. If I missed anything, this should get it."

"Well, best be on your way, the road conditions are rapidly deteriorating up here."

Reese kept a close eye on the restrooms. Whether it was the brutal truth, or his not so subtle promise to forcibly retrieve them, something had done the trick. Albeit reluctant obedience, their Numbers relented to his persuasion and returned in brooding silence. "On our way."

* * *

"Detectives." Finch looked at his phone impressed he still had any service. "What can I do for you?"

"Hey Professor. Your partner finally find some cave to stash his friends? Cuz it's been at least... what... two hours since Mr. Trigger-Happy decorated some part of town with bodies." Fusco avoided looking at the scowl he was getting from Carter.

Finch ignored the comment, recognizing that the Detective often cloaked actual concern behind flippant and generally insulting remarks. "Given the degenerating situation, the city is no longer safe. We have been forced to implement some.., more extreme measures to insure our guests' well being."

"Do I even wanna know what that means?"

Carter grabbed the phone from Fusco and hit the speaker. "So you gonna tell us where it is that you're disappearing to?"

"I'm afraid I can't Detective. By the number of discovered bugs, I'm sure you can appreciate my hesitancy to broadcast it."

"I appreciate being kept in the loop, but yeah, I get it. Listen the reason we called... Fusco and I just left the hospital; the 'fundraiser sniper' finally woke up. We have a lead on your hit-broker. Let you know if we find anything. "

"I'm afraid our remoteness may make that difficult. Our usual methods of communication will be of little use."

"Let me guess.., those '_creative measures_?'" Fusco chimed in, busily negotiating the snow packed roads. "You do know there's a doozy of a storm gonna hit - hell it ain't lookin' so good right now!"

"Are you guys crazy?" Carter wasn't loving the sound of this new plan, and if it wasn't for John's note safely tucked in her wallet, she'd be considerably more frustrated and angry at Finch's evasiveness. As it was she hadn't had a chance to more than glance at what he'd written, but at least the numbers now made more sense. Which was more than she could say about anything else at this point.

"No Detective, and yes we are aware. As we will be otherwise unavailable, your assistance is greatly appreciated. We'll be in touch."

Fusco just shook his head when the call ended. "What the hell? Guess now we're on a need to know huh? Those guys sure like to test the boundaries..."

Fusco shot Carter with a look of complete exasperation, but seeing the quickly unfolded note she held up along with her finger pressed to her lips, he quickly caught on.

"I need to swing by my apartment first, I have something I to pickup." She knew it was just a precaution, but if they were going to be heading after Rourke, the last thing they needed was to be unknowingly bugged and someone using them to get to him or John and Finch. After all, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean someone isn't listening.

* * *

By the time they pulled into the Cabin's driveway the snow had increased to a near white out. The drive had been an off-roading challenge and more than once he worried how Finch was dealing with the inhospitable conditions.

However his worry lessen a bit after rounding the last curve of the driveway. Reese coaxed the laboring SUV into the covered car port, truly impressed with the size and quality of the place. Admittedly, when Finch said 'cabin,' he'd conjured images of cold, breezy, hunting shacks slightly better than a shed. He should have known better.

Reese took the Wright's silence to be a hint of subtle acceptance of the two-story A-framed log house as well. "Stay put. I'm gonna make sure it's safe." He didn't wait for a response as he climbed the stairs to the covered deck that wrapped around all four sides of the large cabin from the car port.

There was no evidence of footprints in the flurries blowing across the porch, but John did a careful sweep of the area anyway, instinctively noting vulnerabilities, outbuildings, and distances to tree lines, while gauging the thickness of the surrounding forest for potential attack points.

Under normal circumstances there was enough of a clearing to maintain a good defensible perimeter, but with the storm.., he wouldn't be able to see passed a few meters at best, suddenly making him very glad he packed his infrared equipment.

As satisfied as possible, Reese silently entered the cabin. Inside was cold and dark but the smell of dry, aged pine made it welcoming nonetheless as he moved through the house with his gun-mounted flashlight sweeping each corner.

Course wood floors stretched throughout the house giving way to knotty pine walls and thick, sealed log beams that reached to a vaulted peak high over the living area and to an upstairs landing.

Both the upstairs and downstairs rooms were spacious and none overly cluttered, making them strategically easy to clear and... pleasing. The overall feel of the place pulled at some long closed off idea, that this was what he envisioned on those fleeting occasions his mind wandered to the future.

But this wasn't one of those times. Holstering his gun, he called Finch on the sat-phone.

"Finch. You there?"

It wasn't the crystal clear quality they were used too, but Reese was relieved nonetheless to hear Finch. "I am Mr. Reese."

"Everything ok?"

"A bit chilly, but yes. Bear seems to be rather enjoying the adventure."

Reese broadly smiled, thankful Finch at least had Bear with him and wished he could see the dog's certain glee at bounding through the forest's refreshing freedom.

"I did receive a call from the Detectives. The fundraiser sniper apparently provided a some information on the mysterious Rourke."

"Be a nice break if something panned out."

"Indeed."

"Any luck with the transmitters?"

"I've only just started setting everything up. But at least with the Wrights so far removed, and perhaps with the new perspective, we can see something we previously missed. I'm sure your endless running didn't afford much beyond just keeping them alive."

Finch was right in part, but John was already feeling the creeping restlessness of just waiting. _The downside to the plan..._ Reese realized. "I'm not sure either of the Wrights would agree with the 'perspective' change at this point, but _not dead _beats the alternative."

Finch paused. "How are they handling the situation? Anything come to light Mr. Reese?"

"Pissed-off about sums it up. So far I can't tell if it's anymore than just their winning personalities, but I'm sure time will tell. Nothingness has a way of doing that. Until then, I'll be watching, and trying not to kill them myself."

"Do try, Mr. Reese, since we have gone through quite a lot of trouble thus far."

John could feel a headache clawing up the back of his head from the cold, or stress. _Pick one or both_, he thought. "Finch. When we get back, you need to have a serious heart-to-heart with your machine, its sense of humor and idea of jollies, watching us dance to its ambiguous song, is getting old."

"As you know, I can't alter the machine, Mr. Reese and I doubt it even knows what 'humor' is."

Reese was just tired, hardly sleeping in... two, or was it three days... was making him edgy. "Sorry Harold, it's just, a few more details might have ended this five steps ago, and saved us this whole wilderness adventure."

It wasn't the first time Finch contemplated the difficulty, but their relationship with the machine was set. "I wish it were that simple. Much like a parent and child, by the time the child is grown, the events that set the precedence under which their entire dynamic was formed, can no longer be changed. In any case, I thought you'd rather enjoy a change of scenery. Oh, and before I forget, here are the coordinates to my cabin."

"It's not the scenery getting under my skin. Speaking of which, I'd better round them up, before they go AWOL and I'm babysitting popsicles. Not an all together bad option... Night Harold - good luck." Reese offered halting at the sudden sound of unguarded voices coming from the back of the SUV.

Thinking they were alone, Edward and Anthony freely bickered over the situation. It was clear neither was pleased, to say the least, although Anthony tried to calm his father. "I know this is less than ideal, hell I wanted to leave the country but you won't listen! This is definitely not what I had in mind either. But you have to admit things have been getting terrifyingly intense lately - not that this survivalist nut-job is making it much better. At least we can use the time to clear our heads."

"I can think of a million other ways I'd rather be doing that! But I guess the storm has everything at a standstill, so proceeding as planned would have to wait regardless. I'll promise you this - soon as we get back, Mr. Flint will regret the day he did this."

Finch shook his head at John's previous and ironic well-wish picking up the faint, yet colorful, conversation between Edward and his son. "Mr. Reese, it would seem you could do with some 'Luck' more than I." He most certainly didn't envy John's arduous position.

Reese stifled the grumble as he called out to collect their freezing Numbers. "It's all clear. Grab as much as you can carry."

Anthony was the first to let his flashlight travel over the interior. "Decent little hut I guess. Does it have power or heat?"

"If you can build a fire, the generator's outside, I'll kick it on." Even in the dark Reese could feel the scowls as he happily left the two inept billionaires to figure out which end of a match to light.


	22. Chapter 22

The cafe's hustle and bustle of clanking dishes and high-pitched conversations only compounded the headache Carter'd been unsuccessfully trying to ignore. She distractedly poked at her lunch, still irritated over the precinct loosing power that morning, and more so over the fact that they were again at a stalemate. And with Finch and Reese both incommunicado, things only gnawed a deeper hole.

Last night's tip ended up being a bust, and she'd caught maybe an hours worth of restless cat naps. They'd almost had Rourke, but the slippery weasel must have known the location was compromised and slipped the loft only hours before.

Part of her felt bad for taking up the entire booth for so long, since the diner was brimming with extra people ducking the worsening weather outside, but then it wasn't like she had any other place to be. _No leads and no power'll do that, _she fumed.

"Can I get you anything else hun?"

"Oh, no I'm..." Carter's phone began to vibrate in her pocket, "I'm good thanks. Just the bill."

She stared at the blocked ID and waited for the waitress to leave before answering. "Detective Carter."

"Detective. It would appear we share an acquaintance, and as it turns out, a common interest as well."

The heavy Russian accent immediately gave away its owner, "Renkinov. And what would that be?"

"I think you meant who. I must compliment you on your skills. You nearly had him first last night. "

Pissed at hearing the Russians snaked Rourke, she bit, "is there a point to this call or did you just call to gloat. Cuz I'm a little busy."

"I think you are finished eating, no? You have already asked for your bill did you not." Ivan smugly postured.

The little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she scanned the diner, immediately locking eyes with the very large man shoving through the door. He was draped in a snow-tipped fur coat that made her question whether it was really dead- despite the wet animal smell strongly suggesting something was.

"This is Yuri. He has something for you; if you make good on our friend's promise."

"And what's that." Carter spoke in a warning tone as she glowered at Ivan's henchman, wrinkling her nose at his gamey stench.

"That you ask your questions of this low-life quickly, and after that, you leave without interference. Also that you will acknowledge the Bratva's innocence with regard to the Wrights."

"'Low-life..,' that's rich. Maybe you don't have anything to do with the attacks on the Wrights, but you're far from innocent. Especially if you intend to kill Rourke"

"My dear Detective. I have no intention of killing this man. He is a mere business man who now understands the error of his ways. He will not make it again."

Joss believed him as much as Yuri believed in deodorant. "He is a person of interest in an on going investigation. I can't just let you keep him."

"Any yet, that is exactly what you will do, or we have nothing else to discuss. Though it seemed talking to this man was of great importance to your friend. And Rourke had some interesting things to share."

_Dammit John! _she inwardly cursed. The Russians were an unscrupulous lot, who'd just as soon shoot you to see if their gun worked. "I find him floating in the river.., you bet your Russian-ass I'm pinning it on you and you won't like how bright my spotlight'll make your dark life."

"Beautiful, smart and brave; I see why he likes you. Tell your friend, if he survives, that he is wasting his talents. I could have used such a man."

"What do you mean 'if he survives?' What do you know?" Cater suddenly grew sick at Iran's inference that John was in danger.

"I think you should hear the whole story from its source. I wouldn't want to miss any of the details." Ivan smugly sneered.

Joss cautiously eyed Ivan's man as he pulled a phone from his beastly coat, setting it on the table with a sinister glint in eye before turning to leave. "Rourke better be firing on all cylinders when I talk to him too."

Carter rubbed her temples. She hoped John was ok, because once this was all over.., she was gonna kill him.


	23. Chapter 23

"You sure about this Carter?" Fusco cautioned. "Might be us strung up somewhere in this endless dungeon by night's end. Maybe we should'a brought backup?"

Joss had to admit the dank underground catacombs bellow the meat-packing plant sent a foreboding shiver up her spine too. "Ivan knows better than to touch a couple of cops. John knew that or he wouldn't have set this up. Besides, if we'd brought backup they'd already have Rourke lost in this maze-work in seconds. "

Just then two, burly giants popped from around the corner. Fusco raised his eyebrows and whispered, "Russians don't come in _small_ do they?"

"We're here to see, Rourke." Carter announced.

"Renkinov said you'd be coming'k. He is here." One of the man pointed a meaty finger at the door behind him. "You have five minutes. Then you go."

Fusco suspiciously eyed the grizzlies as they passed.

The smell of earthy mushrooms and stagnant water mixed with the cold temperature to create a less than inviting feel. The whole purpose of a cell, Carter frowned in discussed. One dim bare bulb hung from the center of the ceiling, casting a dull dirty-yellow hue over the rust stained sink, and bucket that no doubt served as the resident toilet. A single cot took up the other side and played host to a pasty man in his mid-forties, perched on its edge in a tired slouch. The half of his face they could see looked like someone had finger painted his face with various purples and blues.

"Rourke?"

"Don't know him..." The man spoke as if his cheeks were stuffed with cotton balls.

"I'm Detective Fusco, this is my partner Detective Carter. Thing about Detectives is we kinda notice stuff like those colorful name tags all over your face that says otherwise."

The pummeled man sudden grew very animated. "Police? Show me your badges." Satisfied the man continued. "Get me outta here. I know things. A lot of things! About a lot of influential people! Just get me outta here!"

"Ok, slow down."

"Get me out of here."

"Tell us about the Wright job and we'll see what we can do." Carter posed.

"You too. I should'a never touched that job. Ok... Edward Wright. So last week, three people... they say they're part of the Russian syndicate and need a job done. I'm not stupid so I throw out a huge number," both Carter and Fusco rolled their eyes in disagreement. "I mean I know they have their own people to do shit like this, so I'm thinking it's something special. Something they'll pay a lot to keep some distance from. So I throw out this HUGE number and they fucking pay it! Right there. Normally I wouldn't touch something like this, I mean if the mob doesn't want it, it's gotta be bad right. So I ask, and its a fucking piece of cake.. or at least that's what I thought at first."

"Why? What happened?"

"This guy, some James Bond wannabe in-a-suit, shows up at every frickin' attempt and nearly kills all my guys. Didn't matter how many were sent. Even fucking crashed a truck into one of the Russian's cars! Who does that! That's when things went bad for me. I heard the same damn guy somehow turned the Russians back on me. Like this whole thing was my fault. He must have been a plant for the Russians - just testing my guys. Who by the way aren't technically mine, they're all independents for fuck sake! It's not like I trained em! I just provide a service - connect people!"

"Rourke! Stay focused..!"

"Yeah... sorry... so anyway, the Russians show up, work me over, then throw my ass in here. They start asking me questions like they have no fucking idea what's going on. I still think their just testing me. Are they testing me?"

Fusco looked at Carter and then back on the squirming man. "So you got a description of the three that hired you?"

"I don't know, in this business you don't look to close. Figured they were just lackeys for the mob anyway."

"Yeah how's that working for you now?" Carter growled. "Come on Fusco, this is a waste of time."

"No, no! Wait! I have a video! I always make videos, for insurance ya know. Can't be too careful." He nervously laughed, "But if word gets out, I'm ruined."

"Ruined?" Fusco chuckled. "And what do you call being held in a cell by a piss-off mob?'"

"I haven't told the Russians, if it was them that hired me and they knew I had tapes, they'd kill me for sure." He wrinkled his face in dawning, "If it wasn't them that hired me... then they'll kill me because... because they think I set them up! Oh shit! You gotta get me outta here!"

Carter smacked, "the way I see it, you're screwed one way or the other, the only thing that's gonna keep you breathing is us and that video. So where is it?"

"You gotta get me outta here first!"

"You think we want to start a war with the mob over you?" Her voice pitched in disgust. "Not without knowing what's on the tape is worth it."

"Ok, it's in a cyber account. You can check now!" Rourke rattled his ID and password to Carter as fast as she punch it into her phone. "I'm sure I got all three of them."

Carter looked at Fusco and shook her head. No service.

"What's the rest of the plan?" Fusco pushed.

"It's happening tonight.., now, actually." He cooked his head realizing the time.

"What!?" Carter needed proof. "Where?"

"The crazy bastards are hold up in the Catskills. In this damn storm too. I had to seriously up the stakes and hire some militia group that specializes in arctic warfare. And they wanted them using only certain Russian weapons... You have any idea how all that cut into my profits..."

"Call them off!"

"I can't. It's out of my hands. The plan's already in motion and even if I could, there's no way to contact them."

Carter blanched barely keeping herself from adding to the bruises decorating the man's face. When she spoke it was with spitting venom. "They'd better survive. You're life depends on it."

"Wait! What? You can't leave me. Aren't you cops? I'm a New York citizen! I have..." But the heavy door cut his last words to a distant mumble.

Carter stared up at the big Russians. "Tell Ivan, I'm holding him responsible for that man, and when you're done scaring the crap out of him, and feel like you own enough of his miserable soul, I expect proof he's still breathing - in one piece." She ignored the looming fury marring the huge men's faces. "Lets go Fusco."

Without saying a word both Detectives greedily sucked in the fresh air, not minding the stinging snow hitting their faces as they stepped out of the packing plant. Anything beat the stifling, claustrophobic choke of being trapped underground, cut-off and desperate to get cell service.

"I'm in his account." Carter absorbedly announced, closing the door to Fusco's cruiser. It only took a few seconds to recognize what they were looking for.

"Oh my god! And they have no idea..."


	24. Chapter 24

Finch nearly jumped out of his seat at the staggering dual explosions that blasted over their connected call. He'd found it too hard to concentrate on the videos playing across his computer screens with his attention so torn by the disturbing sounds of Mr. Reese's on going confrontation and the inconceivable new attack. _Who_ was behind this, now seemed secondary to _how_ they'd found them.

A sudden hand cramp from over gripping the table's edge made his failed progress all to clear, so he shoved from the useless images with an annoyed shake of his hand.

So far, his search into the transmitter's controlling phone number had only linked it to a burner phone sold two weeks ago. To whom was the question, but with hours of video files left to sift through to narrow the purchase to one definitive person, he could only hope the information would yield something that could help them at this point.

Harold paced. "I'm assuming since the phone wasn't obliterated with the trucks, neither where you?"

"Nope, still here, Finch." Reese panted working hard to traverse the snow packed hills back to their Numbers.

"Any sign of our Charges?"

"I can see them now, but I think.., so did a few of our party crashers."

"And when you say a few?" Finch sometimes paled at Reese's lax descriptions.

"Just four or five Harold. Nothing I can't handle, besides... my little surprise has them pretty rattled." Reese genuinely smiled at the black smoke streaking their direction on the heavy winds.

The cover was just an added bonus as Reese advanced on the men all turning their attention toward their burning vehicles.

John leaned against a tree, bringing the milling men into his sites, and hobbled one with quick knee-capping ease. The remaining four scattered, hurling themselves into whatever hollows and snow banks they could find.

John ducked behind a large fallen tree and moved along its snow piled trunk in search of a better vantage point.

"I'm assuming that went as planned?"

"I'm beginning to like not worrying about collateral damage."

"Though I'm pleased you can find pleasure in your work, don't get used to it."

"Buzzkill..." Reese whispered.

"Good lord!" Harold unexpectedly exclaimed having been watching the streaming video in passing. "Mr. Reese! I just discovered who our perpetrator is."

"Hold on..," Reese cautioned and downed a soldier dangerously nearing the Wright's hiding place. "Did I hear you right? You know who's behind this?"

"I'm just cleaning up the footage to verify it wasn't an anomaly, and am certain. I'd discovered the phone number controlling the transmitter's sim card. It belonged to a burner phone sold by a street vendor. I've spent the last few hours manually reviewing the sales of that vendor and I was able to narrow it to a buyer which still leaves me in disbelief."

"And me wondering if you're ever going to tell me. Who Finch?"

"My apologies Mr. Reese. It..." Harold was silenced at the sudden successive impacts followed by two exhaling grunts. "Mr. Reese? Are you alright?"

Reese was violently snapped into the tree trunk as if he'd be kicked by a mule. He slide the rest of the way down the log with a hissing groan. Black dots danced at the edges of his eyes; he couldn't yet get any air back into his lungs after the two bullets nailed him in the chest, but even through the blurred vision he could made two figures moving through the trees about 200 yards out.

"John?" Finch stood, cringing at the horrific images conjured by his imagination.

Reese forced himself to stay conscious and crawl for better cover, just concentrating on relaxing and breathing over the desperate burn of his lungs. Hidden on the other side of the tree, he pushed up, sitting with his back pressed again the ice-covered bark.

With his eyes closed his fingers checked the damage done to his vest. The bullets hadn't penetrated his body armor, but the plating had been severely dented and pressed heavily into his battered skin. His head spun with the effort of shedding his coat and painfully stripping the vest from his body.

Finch wasn't sure if he was hearing the rustling of wind-driven trees or the sound of Mr. Reese's movements. "John can you hear me? Are you alright?"

"Still... ticking..." Reese panted the raspy response.

Finch's worried pacing froze. "Though I'm not sure how well by the sounds of that."

"Got my vest. I'm fine."

Finally able to draw a few breaths, Reese pulled his jacket and moved along the downed tree to its root end.

More shots rang out, embedding into the decaying trunk around him.

"Are you able to make it out?"

"Have to. These headhunters are multiplying... and this storm's gearing up to bury us seven ways from Sunday." Reese rotated his rifle from his back and peered through the tree's gnarled ball of upended roots. The cluster offered the perfect camouflage to slowly set his targets in his sights. "So who's calling the shots?"

In all the commotion Harold had forgotten the critical finding. "I'm afraid a ghost..." He tentatively answered.

Reese peered through his scope. "Eleanor Wright."

"Yes. How did you..."

"Because I'm staring at Edward's not-dead wife standing next to the sniping goon that shot me. Guess someone wasn't telling the whole truth. This puts one hell of a new spin on things."

"If he even knows. Undoubtedly. It would seem revenge may be the underlying motivator after all, just not as we might have suspected. It would certainly explain the reasoning behind pinning her husband's murder on the same group hired to kill her - or rather, tried to kill her. " Finch corrected. "The Russians."

"Convenient pons." Reese whispered. "Still doesn't answer how they found us."

"And we'll have to look into it, but for now, you'd best hurry."

The light was rapidly fading from both the hour and storm-brewing skies, another fifteen minutes and it would be completely dark, making this an entirely different battle, Reese reasoned. He needed to get them to safety.

"One... more... second..."

John steadied his barrel amongst the mesh-work of reaching roots. His muscles still shook from the impacts, but with the rifle braced he easily brought the man into his crosshairs. "Payback's a bitch."

Eleanor stared in disbelief as her employee was picked off just inches from her. She attempted to tuck behind a giant boulder, just not faster than Reese when his second shot clipped her shoulder and knocked her out of view. "Ok, heading your way now."

It was getting increasingly harder to understand each other with all the background noise. "Mr. Reese the storm is intensifying!"

"I noticed, Finch." Reese dryly stated.

"Are you being pursued?"

"Not sure how many are left. I don't see the other four. I took a lot of them out and winged Eleanor, so she may or may not be up to the challenge."

"How far away are you?"

"Maybe half a mile?" He yelled. "Ten minutes."


	25. Chapter 25

Cautiously Reese approached to where he'd instructed the Wrights to hide, only instead of finding two, he only found one. "Edward? Where's Anthony!?"

"We thought someone was coming. I don't know. He went around those trees to come up from behind. Something must have happened!"

"How long ago?"

"Minutes, just a few minutes." The distraught man was almost in tears.

Reese spun around to as sudden movement breaking from the bushes, "Whoa! Just me." Anthony huffed working his way back through the deep snow. "I thought I saw someone and wanted to surprise them. They headed a different direction."

"I told you to stay here." Reese growled.

"And what, just sit there and let one those psycho-soldiers trip over us. Thanks for leaving us some protection by the way. We thought you might have gotten killed; it sounded like a war zone!"

Edward took a step toward John, "are those bullet holes!?" he questioned staring at the twin holes over his chest.

"Just scrapes. Come on. They're still out there. Lets move."

* * *

Under normal circumstances, half a mile wasn't even a noticeable distance, but this was anything but normal. Temperatures had dramatically fallen with the setting sun, and driving winds made the icy snow feel like sixty-grit sand paper, add a vengeful, far-from-dead wife, commanding her own private militia, and you had the perfect storm.

Whipping guts howled through the frost encrusted trees, further stripping them of any loose ice while snapping anything unfit for the fight. Reese had to be extremely leery of falling projectiles, since it was all his Numbers could do to concentrate on just moving forward. "Keep your arms up to guard your faces."

Edward and Anthony struggled, clearly not used to interacting with such extreme and hostile conditions. Reese wondered at what point some people ever got used to it? _When had he? He didn't even remember anymore. _

More than once the men had fallen or been lashed by clawing branches, but so far neither had sustained any debilitating injuries. Reese was actually impressed by their stoic determination.

Besides asking for better flashlights, neither father nor son said much, probably due to shock and focusing on the adversities at hand. Who'd have thought it would only take an prize-hunting army and a killer storm to bring out a descent quality.

At that moment Anthony slipped into the snow well at base of a tree with vicious contact. He just leaned against it, trying to catch his breath. "Pl..please can we stop for a second." Anthony managed to chatter around his numb lips.

John could understand his need; with each misstep, his bruised chest throbbed in merciless response making breathing a fun challenge. The bullets lodged in the armor-plating revealed they had been 7.62, most likely the higher velocity hunting rounds, at that distance. He was lucky his vest had taken them as well as it had - which at this point he was beginning to question the '_well_,' but ignored it pushing on. "No time, keep moving."

"But to wh...where? Where are w..ww..ee going?"

"Ranger's cabin." Reese lied not wanting to mention Finch just yet, and annoyed to use breath he didn't have to spar.

"At least let us use r..r..real flashlights."

"Can't. If we can see - they can see us."

"How is it th...that you know ssso much about this area?" Edward questioned.

"That's what you would have paid me the big bucks for." John dodged.

"Do y..you really know where you're going?" Edward breathlessly challenged. "I think you don't."

"Do you really know what happened to your wife? I think you don't."

"I... I'm not sure I know what you mean?"

"I _mean_ how is that wife is very much alive, angry as hell, and commanding her own battalion of mercenaries? I'd try the ghost theory, but one.., I don't believe in them, and two, ghosts don't use assault rifles with real bullets. So you want to try again and tell me what really happened five years ago." Reese bit.

"Dad? What's he talking about? Mom died. She died in that car bomb... Didn't she?" Edward made no attempt to respond - as good as an answer for Anthony. "She's alive!? Why the hell would she be trying to kill us?!" Anthony grew more and more enraged.

Edward's mouth gaped like a fish out of water, desperately trying to find any words. "I don't know."

"You can do better than that." Reese coaxed wearing a wicked grin. "If I had to guess, I'd say she's after him for revenge."

"Revenge!? Dad - answer me!"

"I don't know! I saw her die in that blast! She was in that car when it blew up!"

If it was possible for a frozen face to blanch beyond bluish, Edward's would have. He stopped and faced both John and his son. "I'd been getting death threats for months, but ignored them, thinking they were just more of the same desperate lowlifes who reach for empty threats to get what they want. But I was wrong! This time it was the Russian mafia that didn't want the building project to happen and the threats were not empty. If I hadn't had to to stay and deal with some last-minute business.., I would have been in that car with your mother. Thank God you weren't..." Edward deflated.

Reese didn't believe a word of it and he was sure Carter would find the evidence to prove it. "It's pretty clear you missed a detail, Mr. Wright." Reese swallowed against the throat-stripping cold, "We need to keep moving." He pointed in the intended direction, waiting to take up the rear as they moved on. "We're close."

Though deathly silent, Anthony seemed to have somewhat calmed, but Edward continued to wring his gloved hands constantly looking over his shoulder with paranoid frequency.

"Keep moving. It's the only way to actually get there." Reese pushed.

"I don't think so! That's far enough!" The female voice rang out.


	26. Chapter 26

Carter stared at the satellite phone laying across her lap, closed her eyes and prayed.

One more time she grasped well-worn note, the last shred of coveted paper John had handed her the last time she'd seen him. She could still feel the heat of his fingertips, the way they'd purposely been left to linger against the skin of her opened hand.

If only she had grasped him instead - held on - refused to take it. Something! But she hadn't, she'd accepted the little piece of inscribed paper along with his fate.

She shook herself, angry at her useless thoughts and dialed the sat-phone number she'd memorized as many times ago. She nearly choked when it connected.

"John? Oh my God! You know how long we've been trying to get you?!" She snapped her fingers at Fusco now staring at her from across his desk.

"Detective? No it's Finch. Has something happened?"

Carter collected herself with trained efficiency. "Finch. You guys are in danger! We know who's behind the..."

"As do we. Eleanor Wright."

"Back from the grave... and not even surprised?" Fusco muttered in the background. "Figures..."

"Mr. Reese has already had a run in with Mrs. Wright, and from the sounds of it, a rather large and adapt accompaniment. He managed to get our Numbers away, and is heading this way. I'm afraid our best laid plans were somehow compromised, we'll..."

"Finch! Listen! It's worse than that. We saw the video tapes Rourke made of his clients. Eleanor isn't the only one calling the shots..."

"Oh dear..."

* * *

Reese stayed on high alert, keeping a sharp eye while trying to hear passed the whipping trees and crunching footsteps, but the storm made it impossible. It was bad enough beginning out in these treacherous conditions, but to be such easy targets was pushing to the top of his list of _bad ideas._ _ Might as well paint a glowing bullseye on our backs. _ He shook his head in frustration. "Keep moving. It's the only way to actually get there." Reese pushed.

"That's far enough!" In that instant, the simultaneous and all too familiar, sounds of cocking weapons managed to filter through the rustling trees from multiple directions. "Toss your weapons and turn around!" The female's voice commanded.

Reese had no choice, they were caught in the open. The soldiers were too spread out to take them all down before one of them reached the Wrights, and he couldn't shield them both. He slowly turned.

Somehow they'd been flanked. Two men stood off in the trees about 25 yards away with fully automatic rifles trained right on them - neither needed to be a remotely good shot to cut them down. Eleanor, along with two more well armed men, fanned about 20 yards behind him. "Ah-ah! Nice and slow!"

Reese reluctantly threw his pistol into the deep snow, then unslung his rifle and did the same. "You don't have to do this. I know what Edward did to you. You don't have to kill him to get justice."

Eleanor laughed looking right at Edward. "Don't even try! I'm not gonna watch as some high-powered lawyer and _bought _judge let this murderous snake off with nothing more than a hand slap over drinks. I've been planning this a long time."

With his influence, Reese knew that was a distressing possibility. After all, wasn't it because of such a flawed system that they did what they did in the first place? "Think about your son. Hasn't he been through enough? He just got you back." It was that inopportune moment his sat-phone chose to ring.

John heard the unmistakable flick of a gun's safety from directly behind him. A wash of self recrimination hit along with the hyper-clarity as the last piece of the puzzle dropped into place. Why they'd always been one step behind the attacks. How they'd always found them, and why they couldn't find the leak.

"I'll take that..." Anthony Wright vehemently hissed.

Reese slowly pulled the phone from his pocket and hit 'answer' just as Anthony snatched it from his hand.

"You won't be needing this!" he bit and hurled the hardware over the nearby drop off. "Don't pretend that you know what we've gone through!" Anthony lashed out. "My Dad tried to have my Mom killed_, _but not before she and I were subjected to a lifetime of abuse!"

"Anthony? Son? I never meant... You.., you can't be a part of this..." Edward's pitch rose in staggered shock.

"And you! I can't believe you have the guts to act innocent? God - you probably don't even think you did anything wrong? As long as everyone thought you we were the perfect family, then you remained the model dad and husband of the year. But only as long as it all stayed hidden - right? When Mom threatened to expose your perfect façade? You had her killed. Well it's our turn now!"

John couldn't help but feel a pang sympathy for them; no one should live abused and in fear, especially not at the hands of family. Reese understood how desperation could push a person to do extreme things.., but he feared this would take a damaged man and irreparably break him. "You can still put an end to it all, the right way. Don't let him ruin your future too." John reasoned.

Anthony ironically laughed. "Future! That's _why_ we're doing this, so Mom and I can have the future we deserve. As far as anyone will know, the mob killed him. Then I'll get it all. Who gets to decided what's '_right_!?' Definitely not you!? We're here now because of you! This would have all been over days ago. Clean - fast - done! But thanks to your, save-the-world, heroic ass... here we're freezing our's off!" Anthony turned to his mother in sudden concern, "Mom, you ok?"

She clutched her bandaged shoulder. "Nothing can stop me from enjoying this. Get rid of him." She ordered, "so we can get this bastard back to the city and finally do this right!"

Reese felt the piercing burn of the bullet before his brain could accept that Anthony had actually pulled the trigger. To the very last second he'd held out hope for the young man, but as his knees buckled, he knew that Edward had already stripped hope away from his son a long time ago.

"Finish him, we can't have any witnesses!"

Anthony snarled a grin and leveled the gun on Reese once again, too preoccupied by the act to notice John suddenly launch himself into Anthony, knocking him off target just before vaulting sideways over the edge of the icy drop off.

"Get him!" Anthony wailed, scrambling up to the edge to fire into the inky darkness.

A battery of automatic fire joined him, shredding through the trees and impacting with ricocheting pings off rocks.

"That's enough!" Eleanor called out, laying a hand on her son's shoulder. "He's dead either way. If the bullets didn't get him the storm will. Let's go. We need to find another vehicle."

"Why would you go to such lengths Eleanor?" Edward begged. "Why not just kill me the first chance you had?"

She bitterly laughed. "In hindsight we probably should have, but it was just too much fun manipulating your idiot henchman, O'Connor. I'm sure he purposely botched running you off the road, but after we threatened to take his traitorous involvement in my murder public, he fell in line. Killing him was a liberating reward after five years!" She broadly smiled. "Then by some twisted miracle you managed to get the only capable watchdog in New York - effectively screwing everything up! You have any idea what this endeavor has cost me because of him? Even so taunting you, and those pompous, old company-blowhards has been just rewards - it'll be nothing getting them to sell out now."

"And Paulinski? Why kill him? He had nothing to do with it."

A look of genuine sorrow darkened her face. "Paulinski was a good man. Only trustworthy man I've ever known. That was a regrettable accident meant for you.. A tragic irony really, since Paulinski's the reason I survived. You son-of-bitch! He's the one who warned me of your plan five years ago, and helped me stage my death."

"What about Anthony! You're hired fools almost killed your own son!"

"Hardly. Your cowardice eyes saw what you wanted to see. We always knew exactly where he was and you, right down to the lying teeth in your head. You know that root canal? Dr. Epstein was kind enough to give us a fail proof way to track you by implanting a fake molar, a transmitter we could turn off and on as we needed, leaving it undetected."

"Mom, lets go!" Anthony gently gripped her gun hand. "We have to get out of this weather! Flint had us heading to another cabin not far from here. It must have been his backup plan. I'm sure he has a truck stashed."

Eleanor lovingly stroked her son's cheek before finishing her venting tirade. "Can't have a convincing plot without some build-up! You taught me that darling! And it's simply poetic laying the blame on those filthy Russians. For your just deserts, we've even chosen your favorite getaway house, where I'm sure you and O'Connor came up with your treacherous plan. Now move!"


	27. Chapter 27

As the voices faded, Reese shoved to his knees, using the huge boulder that had luckily stopped his sliding decent and provided deflecting cover against the rain of weapons fire.

Soon as he stood, he could feel the wet heat spreading down the inside of his jacket and gritted his teeth against the blinding pain from his ribs that laced through to his chest.

With a couple marshaling breaths, Reese gave the area a cursory look for his phone which has also been pitched of the edge. "Snowball's chance..," he mumble and gave up wasted effort to begin the slow, punishing climb back up to the path.

Finch was in danger...

* * *

"Mr. Reese! Can you hear me?" Finch looked at the phone. Though it showed the call was still connected, there was nothing more than a few cryptic sounds, a loud crack, then nothing but windy static. "Mr. Reese.., what's happening?" Harold grew sick to his stomach suspecting the worst.

Determined to use the GPS coordinates to John' sat-phone, Finch hurled his stiff body down the stairs to his computers with focused abandon. The signal was thankfully still active, meaning it hadn't been destroyed, but seeing it remain unmoving was intensely disturbing.

Bear whined, feeling the fear radiating off his master. "We'll find him Bear..."

The painful jolting of his neck barely registered above his hurried intent as he roughly threw on the layers of snow gear. Grabbing nothing more than a flashlight and Bear's leash, Finch reached for his companion when a deep growl stilled his movement. "What is it Bear?"

The dog's hackles visibly ran a ridge from his neck down to his tail. He grew stiff with anticipated aggression, and assumed a defensive posture toward whatever, or whoever was on the other side of the front door.

With no interior lighting, Harold cautiously peered out the window feeling his heart skip when spotted at least five bouncing lights heading his direction.

He swallowed and knew he only had seconds.

* * *

"Spread out! Search every inch of the place. I know he was talking to someone, I want to know who." Anthony order the four hired militants.

Finch squinted into the driving snow, studying the heavily bundled intruders for any signs one could be Mr. Reese. _Edward..._ Finch recognized him being shoved into the cabin. _John... where are you?_ But came up empty.

A sudden sweep of a flashlight's beam sent shooting spikes of terror driven adrenaline coursing throughout his body. Finch could only watch as the light thankfully continued on in a methodical pattern, assuring him they had not yet been discovered. But the hunt was still on.

He tucking deeper behind the snow bank, hugging Bear close while he considered their options and prayed the rapidly piling snow would mask their prints leading from the back of the house.

Anthony's venomous voice sliced above the storm. "Fan out and search the woods. Someone was here, and he knows the start code for that truck. Get it - then kill him too!"

Finch stifled his gasp. The words compounded the gnashing fear for both, John's fate and his safety.

He couldn't stay here. Taking a tighter hold on Bear's leash, he moved in a painfully low crouch, repeatedly urging the protective dog to stand down and stay silent. But honestly, if not for Bear's early warning, they'd both likely be dead already.

They shoved through the hip-deep snow, moving as fast as he was able while shielding his face against the clawing branches and navigating the pitch-black forest. It had only been a few minutes, but already he felt the strain from the unusual exertion and fought to ignore his bodies protests. The worst part was the ever-increasing disorientation caused by the swirling snow.

He, unlike Mr. Reese, didn't posses an innate sense of direction, especially not in these blinding conditions. All he could do was use the small compass John had jokingly clipped to his key ring and kept heading toward the direction of the phone's coordinates he'd memorized.

Scant traces of a path, or road helped keep him somewhat on course, and hopeful by some miracle, would lead him to find Mr. Reese.

Suddenly Harold jumped, '_frightened'_ _was an understatement,_ he realized as he fumbled off his glove and grabbed for the phone ringing in his pocket. "John?!"

Carter calls Finch as he is running

In Carter's experience, it was never a good sign when Finch answered his phone like that. "No, it's Carter. Why? What's happen to John?"

"Detective..." Harold closed his eyes, trying to bring his breathing under control. "I thought you might be Mr. Reese."

"Yeah I got that. Why? Where is he?" Repeating himself - another bad sign.

"I lost contact with him. I need to find him."

Her heart rate was increasing by the second, but she refused to succumb to her fears. "Is he will with Anthony?"

"I'm afraid he's taken over my cabin. There was no sign of John. Bear and I are currently trying to outrun a couple of his men, on our way to..."

"Finch? Finch!"

"Carter what's wrong?" Fusco moved to his partner's side, truly concerned by the look on her face. "I just lost his signal."

"Who's?"

"Finch's."

"You got through again?"

"Only for a minute, and lost him. Eleanor's men are pursuing him out in the storm."

"Where's Captain America?" Fusco's stomach dropped at the tears collecting in her eyes.

"He doesn't know..."


	28. Chapter 29

Finch tried to talk him himself through his mounting anxiety, but John had been right. He hated remote, backward areas with no communication, and vital technological necessities - but most importantly, backup. It was true he was reliant upon technology, that was who he was, and for this job it was an advantage, until now. He just hoped the GPS coordinates meant something more than just an abandoned phone, or worse.

Of course even if John was close, and able, he wouldn't be broadcasting his position. Finch suddenly found himself feeling hopelessly lost and questioning how on earth he'd find anything in this blanketing whiteout. They could be right on top of each other and never know it.

Finch's tailspin was suddenly halted by an urgent yank from Bear "Of course!" How could he have overlooked his most valuable and sensitive asset. "Where's John, Bear? Zoeken! Go get him boy!"

Harold rallied the determined canine and tried to scan the area as Bear pulled him along, but even his flashlight was rendered useless. The light simply reflected back off the blanketing snow, and did little to actually help him see. Abandoning it may have been a blessing in disguise, since it would only server to give away their position.

Suddenly Bear froze in a ramrod posture.

"What is...?" Harold's heart leapt as his words fell short. Two men stood to either side of the trail - weapons raised. "Freeze!"

_Not a stretch_, he thought, given how cold he was. Finch tightly gripped Bear's leash and for some reason couldn't help laughing at the oddly realized joke. He felt a sudden sense of pride an irony that John's cavalier attitude would rub off on him in the end. He smiled and turned toward his aggressors.

"What's so funny?" The men hissed and moved in on Harold.

"Of all the commands, you choice 'freeze' in the middle of a snow storm."

"Still not funny."

The joke was obviously lost on the moronic thugs, but Finch couldn't think of a witty comeback. Bear's rumbled warning would have to do, he mused.

Without warning, the rear soldier lurched forward in an awkward snap. Harold jumped back to avoid the face-planting attack.

"I thought it was funny." Reese smiled, "guessing you could use a hand, Harold?"

The other soldier turned bring his assault rifle to bear on the threat now standing where his partner had been.

"Your timing is impeccable as always Mr. Reese." Finch said, watching with extreme concern as John engaged the man.

Reese stepped in, gripping the barrel and twisting at the same time to get the man off-balance and off target before he could pull the trigger, but the soldier fought back with surprising strength, leaving them in a stalemate over the weapon's control.

Reese didn't feel much like playing this game and crudely head-butted his opponent in the face.

The soldier staggered, but didn't let go. John pressed the clip release, watching as the magazine disappear into the snow between them. "Just one round in the chamber. You that good?"

Egged on by the glib taunting and blood streaming from his now broken nose, the mercenary yanked and pitched Reese off-balance as he intercepted John's ribs with a vicious knee. The breath-stealing blow landed dangerously close to his wounded side, and left Reese swimming in dazed agony.

Bolstered by his success the Merc pulled free, grinning through bloody teeth as he re-aimed the weapon. "Guess I am that good."

"He's better!" Finch called unclasping Bear and watched as the military dog fearlessly leapt at the assailant's arm.

"Ahhhgg!" The gunman screamed, concentrating every frenzied effort to escape the ravaging teeth of the wild canine tearing to his flesh. In sheer desperation, he struck at Bear, hitting him with any part of the rifle he could connect.

"Bear Loslaten!" Reese ordered, took hold of the weapon, pointed it down at the man's boot and fired. A piercing yowl was only heard for a split second before Reese smashed the attacker with finishing punch.

Bear bounced over the downed man in wagging victory and greeted John with loving zeal. "Good boy." Reese whispered then looked at Finch. "You ok Harold?"

He nodded. "Truly, I can't begin to express my relief at seeing you alive and well..."

"Alive anyway," he weakly grinned, doing his best to stave off the constricting pain growing in his chest. "Did you see Edward?"

"He's being held at my cabin at the moment." Finch moved to John's side, frowning in suspicion and renewed fear. "Are you injured Mr. Reese?"

"Just pretty damn tired of being played... Anthony's been in on it from the start. It needs to end." As Reese bent to collect the dropped rifle searing agony cut him to one knee.

"John!" Harold rushed to his friend with a steadying hand. "Mr. Reese, our Numbers will keep. If we don't find shelter this storm will literally bury us." Harold wrapped an arm around John and cringed at his slow rise to both feet. But the fact that he didn't argue scared him the most. "The other cabin isn't that far from is it?"

"What's left of it... No." Reese tried to make himself heard over the howling winds.

Finch looked to the foreboding horizon and whirling mess of imminent destruction. "I dare say we don't want to be caught out when _that_ hits. It'll have to do." It was unimaginable to think this could get any worse, and he wasn't sure he just meant the storm.

* * *

Torture, sheer and utter torture was the only way Finch would describe every step through the pelting pinpricks of driving snow determined to shred the very flesh from any exposed inch of skin.

They were shoved with sporadic brutality, leaving him ever so thankful for Mr. Reese's clothing choices, which at the time, he had to admit, he considered overkill. Not now.

He lost count of the number of times the camouflaged ground had stolen his footing, sucked him groin deep into the piling snow, or slammed him into a tree.

"I think I'd gladly deal with all iced-over stairs in the city to battling through the unpredictable terrain of this snow enveloped mountain."

"You insisted... remember?"

"And though my love for the great outdoors may have admittedly diminished, I stand by my decision." Without saying it, he knew John knew why.

"Tahiti's nicer... this time of year."

Finch laughed, "at this point I'm more than willing to trade this entire debacle for the tropical paradise."

Mr. Reese made no mention of what ailed him, or uttered a single complaint, but Finch knew, as bad as it was for him, it was ten times worse for John. With every gripping jerk and torturous misstep, Finch could feel the waves of tension in John's body grow.

Suddenly, as if cued to prove how treacherously cruel the mountain truly was, the path's edge gave way from under their feet, sucking both Bear and Finch over its false edge.

"Finch!" Reese darted his hand out, holding Harold's jacket in a death-grip, and only barely stopped them from disappearing down the icy abyss by wrapping his other arm around a young pine that now bent and swayed under the strain.

"Hold him!" Reese yelled through gritted teeth.

Luckily Finch had looped Bear's leash around his arm, stopping the dog a few feet below him. "Come on Bear! Up!"

The dog scrambled until finally finding some solid ground and came leaping passed them both.

Despite feeling like he was being ripped in two, John didn't ease his grip until Finch safely crawled his way to the middle of what was left of the path.

Reese fought against the threatening maelstrom trying to take him for another fun-filled ride toward unconsciousness, while enjoying the feeling of everything in his chest caving in on itself. It was excruciating, beyond controlling as he heaved in useless attempts to draw enough oxygen.

"John!" Finch grasped Reese with both hands as he swayed and pulled them both away from the edge landing in a desperate heap onto the path. "Mr. Reese?"

Reese couldn't answer him. At the moment he wasn't even able to breathe and seriously weighed his chances of survival if he rode out the storm laying right here. Not an option, he knew, but it felt good for the moment.

Finch concernedly knelt next to his friend. "John, we need to It was more than obvious that Mr. Reese was gravely injured, worse than he'd suspect, and this heroic act hadn't helped matters, but the storm's vengeful determination offered no respite.

"Mr. Reese, I'm so sorry, but we have to continue. We still have a job to do, and I never said it would be easy." When it came to self-preservation, Mr. Reese fell short, so Finch used the familiar words in hopes of stirring John's deep-seeded drive to save others.

Reese shot Harold with a dirty look, slowly rolled to his side and pushed from the ground while Finch did his best to help.

"Low... blow... Finch." Reese groaned.

"Nothing you won't have done, Mr. Reese." Harold again took as much of John's weight as he could and urged them on. He could feel Reese had considerably weakened and grew more anxious with each ragged breath. "Almost there." Harold coaxed.

Reese hated the amount of weight Finch was forced to take, but as the smothering blackness lingered and clung to the edges of his vision, he was glad he wasn't alone.


	29. Chapter 30

Carter felt lost - useless - wandering from room to room of her apartment, struggling to come up with a next step. Anything to help. Anything!

The weather had all the roads in and out of the city impassable or closed, all aircraft were grounded, power was sketchy at best, and she still couldn't get anyone on the sat-phone. "Dammit, think Joss..."

For a second she wanted to distract herself, call her son and see how his winter-break vacation with their cousins was going. Oregon was three hours behind and he was always up past midnight, but knowing his keen sense of intuition, she set the phone back into its cradle and resumed her aimless pacing. He liked John, a lot, and she didn't want to worry him too.

Part of her felt relieved Taylor wasn't here, despite the guilt of thinking it. She just didn't know if she could hold up the 'impenetrable Mom exterior' with everything spinning so out of her control. And every failed call just made her more sure.

What was happening up there? Where was John? Was he ok? Had Finch escaped his pursuers? Where they out of the storm? And the most grinding question, what could she do to help them?

"Besides pace your ass off..." She halted mid-stride with an idea...

* * *

"Oh my..." _Astonishment,_ that was the closest Harold could come to describing the ungodly state of the cabin, or as Mr. Reese had put it 'what was left of it.'

Two stories _basically_ still existed, but looked as if an asteroid had obliterated one side, leaving a gigantic hole where the kitchen, and maybe a bedroom had been? "One thing's for certain, I could never accuse you of being anything but thorough, Mr. Reese."

"Maybe not... the best of options.., but can't argue with success." Reese breathlessly spoke.

"True..." Harold respectfully acknowledged in an awe-struck tone as they managed the last few steps.

The front door hung wide open, slightly crooked on its hinges, and yet much to their surprised relief, heat wafted from inside. Despite missing windows and nearly half a wall, the super heated blast had simply penetrated everything, leaving the cabin truly warm, though not quite comfortable. Yet.

Harold left Mr. Reese standing in the smoke-filled hallway. "I should close some doors. Find some firewood for the stove..."

"Finch... wait..." Reese wanted to stop him, but his warning fell short when Finch hurried off.

"Just rest Mr. Reese." He called from the hall.

The swirling smoke blew from the kitchen-end of the cabin, causing his flashlight to cast and eerie tunnel view of the smoldering interior. The acrid fumes urged him to hurriedly shut-off as much of the house as possible, but there was also the need for supplies.

His flashlight's beam barely managed to definite a hutch at the end of the hall. "A likely place," he mumbled and brought the light to the floor before moving on, when he suddenly froze in slack-jawed horror.

Finch reeled back, until his feet hit something and spun the light in the new direction. He gasped. No matter how much he'd seen, or would ever experience, no matter how prepared he tried to tell himself he was, seeing and smelling the charred remains of human beings was still a gruesome and stomach wrenching shock - one he was sure he'd never get used too, or forget.

John leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes in remorseful regret at the sounds of poor Harold throwing up.

With a few shaky breaths, Finch steeled himself and continued, thankful for the distraction of finding an armful of candles, as well as solace in the fact that these men had died trying to kill Mr. Reese and their Numbers. 'Number,' he corrected with inescapable guilt.

Having shut every moveable door, Finch returned with the armful of candles, two surviving water bottles and a bag of jerky. "That should help, Mr. Reese."

"Sorry Finch."

"No need." Finch dumped everything into a chair and waved it off, "I managed to close off most of the intact doors throughout the cabin. Between that and re-kindling the wood-stove, it should actually be possible to make the living room suitable for us to weather this storm in relative comfort."

But as Harold looked up at Reese, it became all too clear '_comfort'_ was the last thing John was feeling right now. If Mr. Reese didn't collapse from exhaustion, he'd surely be knocked down by his violent shaking, and either way, there'd be no picking him up. "I'm just going to spin the couch closer to the stove. Be right back."

Reese simply nodded, leaning against the wall as if it were a sliver of paradise - which it was, when compared to the ocean of snow they'd just swam through.

He could feel some of the tension ease as soon as Finch had cut off the tormenting winds, and relished the residual heat actually collect around him. But things were not good.

He watched Finch face the couch toward the stove then quickly empty glass from its cushions. He hadn't said much to Finch, not wanting to add to his stress, but at this point he couldn't hide the fact that breathing was becoming nearly impossible, and he was all but out of gas. He honestly didn't even notice when he began sinking to the floor.

"Mr. Reese!" Finch grabbed John's arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. "I'm sure the couch will feel far better than the floor."

"Long as there's... no snow. It's all good." Reese slowly confessed.

"Hold on.." Before letting John sit, Finch needed to remove his snow gear since it would soon start thawing. He striped the stiffened gloves then fought the ice-encrusted zipper of his jacket - adding uncharacteristic curses at his failed attempts.

Reese winced against the yanking, too cold and drained to say much, he was just trying to stay upright. "Might still... have a grenade in my pocket..."

Finch halted in worry, before getting the joke. "My apologies Mr. Reese...I have it... now."

Adding the offensive jacket to the pile by the stove, Finch turned to finally help lower John to the couch and gasped in shock.

The source of Mr. Reese's deteriorating condition was made disturbingly evident by the glistening wet blood darkening the upper side of his thermal shirt. "Mr. Reese?" He stammered, "Where's your vest?"

Of all the questions he could or should have asked, that one came tripping as if in idiotic reprimand.

It took everything Reese had not to moan with the indescribable relief of sitting, and on something warm. "Didn't fit right anymore..." He didn't elaborate figuring his chest would tell the story.

Harold knew he should give his friend just a moment to rest, but by his raspy and labored panting, he needed to see to John's injury soon.

"I'm sorry Finch." Reese whispered.

The unexpected response caused a look of confusion to cross Harold's face. "What ever for ?"

"Should'a known... Anthony... was in on it. My gut did... and still walked right into it."

"He fooled us all, Mr. Reese. Until we were certain.., there was no other choice. You did what you had to do - more than anyone ever could, or would - and nearly giving your life with the effort." Finch looked at Reese.

"Not enough..."

"John, somethings are beyond our control. Even yours. And despite how you feel, you do not shoulder the responsibility of this job alone."

John looked at his friend with admiration. How could so few words carry so much weight? But he realized it wasn't the words as much as the faith and respect behind them, as well as sincere forgiveness - something he was yet unable to find within himself.

Seeing Finch earlier, struggling through the snow while supporting more of John's weight then he should even have attempted, John wondered if Finch was aware how much of everything _he_ actually carried.

"Harold..." John wanted to thank him when the sentiment was lost to a strangling cough that struck with a tearing vengeance.

Finch grew pale, horrified at seeing John's raging battle to simply breath, and the blood left on his lips when it finally released him to utter exhaustion. Finch was now more desperate than ever to see to his wounds. "John I need to get your shirt off."

Reese wearily blinked with a mischievous look, "Gotta... buy me... dinner first."

Finch just shook his head at Mr. Reese's humorous attempt to ease his worry. "Given the situation, I think an abandonment of formality, and perhaps a rain check, are in order."

Reese would have laughed at Finch's unruffled retort, had the crushing pain and deprivation of oxygen not already taken too much of a toll.

"Mr. Reese?" With no response, Finch came dangerously close to momentary panic, but Harold quickly berated himself for his useless lose of critical focus. _Mr. Reese was depending on him._

"Ok... First... Ascertain the exact nature of the injuries." Finch collected himself with the mumbled monologue, deciding it was better to sound crazy, than go crazy. "No... first I need to see better."

The armful of candles still lay in a pile where he'd distractedly dropped them. He'd found eight, which he quickly arranged to best see John's injured side. With only the firelight flickering behind the stove's glass, the candles added an impressive amount of light.

"Ok.." Finch stared at John, contemplating his shirt before remembering the knife John always wore clipped in his pocket. The sharp blade sliced through the ruined shirt with honed ease, but nothing made seeing the damage underneath any easier.

An involuntary hiss escaped Harold's lips as he parted the garment to either side. "Oh dear.."

Angry, raised and raw bruising radiated from two deep hematomas on the right side of his chest, while his entire left side was coated in thick sticky blood from a gunshot wound high up on the side of his ribs.

The injuries were gruesome to say the least, but with only an entry wound, Finch was left to wonder where the bullet stopped and what internal damage had been done. Then it hit with a sobering realization: the shallow, rapid, labored breathing, the coughing, the blood on his lips...

Finch suddenly felt the compounding helplessness of their isolated situation. Sure he had patched any number of wounds, but what he suspected was far more grave and extended well beyond his limited experience. He was at a complete loss as to what he could do.

But watching his friend suffocate a slow death was not an option. He had to do something, however without his equipment, he didn't even have the internet. "I-don't-know-what-to-do..." He frantically sing-songed.

Then it struck. Perhaps a call to one of his physicians?! The idea fueled the rifling search of his pockets and jacket. "Where is it!?"

Harold set back on his haunches looking up at the ceiling in dawning defeat. Their near fall from the collapsing path had failed to claim him and Bear, but it _had_ taken their last source of communication. His phone was gone.

If Mr. Reese had been aware of Harold's pensive manipulations, frantic search or worried chatter, he didn't react beyond the occasional groan and dire draws for more air.

"Please wake up..." Finch nearly begged in distress. "I could really use your help Mr. Reese."

'..._help_..." The single, desperate word yanked Reese from the smothering darkness. He jolted awake, reflexively reaching for his gun, and sat up before Finch could grab his shoulders.

"Mr. Reese! Stop! Everything's fine. We're fine!"

Reese somewhat eased, settling back as he processed Harold's words and remembered where they were. "Finch, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I mean there is no threat... with the cabin..," Finch grew irritated at his non-sensical rambling and focused. "What I mean to say is, I think the bullet may have punctured your lung. There must be something I can do, but truly without the internet, I'm at a loss."

"Not sure... I'd trust... this to wikipedia." John groggily commented. "Figured as much... S'why it feels... like a truck... is parked on my chest."

Finch wasn't surprised that Reese knew, and even less so that he hadn't said anything. "What can I do John?"

"Need to drain... the fluid."

Finch swallowed down the bile creeping up his throat. "Please tell me you know how to do that." Surgery was not something he wanted to try for the first time stuck in the middle of nowhere, hunkered in the ruins of a half-demolished cabin, with no power, sterile supplies, or help. Then it occurred to him, "John, didn't you have some medical supplies?"

Reese felt for Harold. The terrified look, he tried unsuccessfully to hide, hurt as much as his damn chest. He hated having to ask Finch to do this, but he couldn't do what needed to be done himself. "Might still... be in the... downstairs closet... if there's still a closet."

"You mean the missing bedroom?" He was feeling less hopeful by the second.

"That's the one." Reese slowly grimaced in apology.

The whole place could have burned to ash for all he cared, right now the only thing that mattered was that closet. Finch grimaced, struggling through the remnants of the room and over snow-dusted ruble in hopes of locating the bag.

Crawling the last few feet, Harold finally reached an edge that looked suspiciously like three tight walls of a small enclosure with shelving wedged at an angle.

Finch could have collapsed in relief when he pulled the bag, undamaged and protected from under the piled panels.

"Mr. Reese I have it... John?" His apprehension grew as he neared his friend. In his short absence, John had stretched out on the couch and appeared to have passed out again.

"Don't have to yell. I'm just... resting."

"Good, I dare say you won't want me to attempt this without you."

"Don't worry. It'll be a cake walk."

"I'm not even sure where that saying comes from, but isn't comforting in the least." Finch swallowed, instantly getting queasy. "And I sincerely doubt it."

After everything they'd been through, all the injuries, broken bones and bullet holes, he couldn't help wonder if this would get any easier. "Ok, tell me what to do..." but he knew it never would.

* * *

**Warning**: If detailed medical field-procedures aren't your thing, please feel free to skip to the next chapter. It is meant to be realistic, but not gory, as Finch pushes himself beyond his levels of comfort to do whatever it takes to save Reese's life. They do share a bit of dialog, but nothing critical to the story.


	30. Chapter 31

Notes:

***Warning*** If detailed medical field-procedures aren't your thing, please feel free to skip to the next chapter. It is written to be realistic, but not gory as Finch pushes himself beyond his levels of comfort to do whatever it takes to save Reese's life. They do share a bit of dialog, but nothing critical to the story.

* * *

"I'll talk... you through it." Reese felt from his armpit and counted down to the fourth and fifth rib. "Right here..."

Finch snipped a piece of tape to mark the spot.

By past experience, Reese knew what a painful procedure this was, however the less Finch knew about that part, the better. though hiding it was gonna be tough. Sedation was out, but without anything he might jerk in reaction or pass out midway. "Should be some...lidocaine.., draw some... and inject... the area."

Finch cringed as Reese again crumpled on his side hacking up more blood. He prayed he won't black out.

"Need... to...elevate..." He coughed out.

"Of course!" Finch gathered what pillows he could find and began shoving them under Reese's shoulders and head to reduce some of the pressure on his lungs.

"...inject. Spiraling out.., then deeper."

Finch doused the area in iodine, but with each needle prick it grew harder to control the rolling in his stomach."Oooh I'm soooo not cut out for this..."

"You...sell yourself...short." Reese felt for Harold, hearing how uncomfortable he was, but if anyone could master-the-unfamiliar, it was Harold Finch. "You can... do this. I have faith... in you."

"Miss placed though it might be?"

"In spite of."

"Ok, now what, Mr. Reese?"

"Now cut... one inch.., parallel to the ribs."

Finch steeled himself, trying to think about anything other than the fact that he was about to cut into his friend. He held his breath and pressed down, pulling the blade over his skin.

Harold had done a good job numbing his skin, but the next part was not going to be fun - for either of them. "Good. Find clamps, or scissors..."

"Ok, I have some clamps." Harold doused them in iodine and looked to Reese for his next instruction.

"...stick them... under the skin... and spread, work up.., over the rib.., then down."

_This was necessary to save John. _The mantra just kept playing over and over in his head. And there was no choice.. "Oh god..."

Finch grew positively ill as he inserted the clamps and spread. It was like nothing he'd ever done before; he could not only feel, but hear the tissues ripping as he progressively worked them in, up and deeper.

For Harold's sake John marshaled any reaction, after all, he'd endured far, far worse... though he couldn't keep this up for much longer. And that wouldn't do Harold any good. "Keep... go-ing..."

Finch turned and gagged, waiting for the inevitable upheaval of what was left of his stomach's contents. He inwardly laughed with humorless acknowledgment, that between the two of them, it was he that grew sick from the inflicted pain and shook with terrified nerves. John was a stoic rock.

Reese gave Harold a second to catch his breath. "You ok?"

A flush of embarrassment wash over Harold, not at almost being sick, but at the fact that the man with the injury was apologizing and worrying about the man who was supposed to be helping him. "Just fine Mr. Reese. What's next?"

"Same as before..," he panted, "but this time... you'll use your finger... to push in... until you feel a... pop."

"What? Mr. Reese are you certain?"

Reese pinched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against a sudden jetting spike of pain radiating from inside his chest. "I am... It's... safer... Harold."

Finch edged back to Reese's side with resigned trepidation and a new shade of greenish-white.

With one last inhale and a quick prayer, Harold steadied himself for what he had to do. Cringing, Finch slowly followed the path of the dissected tissues, "over the rib and down," he muttered, until he felt it blocked. "It's blocked! John I can't go any farther."

"Good..," Reese groaned, using every bit of will power in an effort to relax through it, "...push through."

Harold swallowed against his churning stomach and did as instructed, feeling the popping-give as his finger penetrated through the last bit of tissue and into Reese's chest cavity.

If there had been any doubt of what he felt, there was none when the mixture of blood and pleural fluids freely run down Reese's side. "I believe it worked!"

Reese didn't say anything right away, he took a moment just collecting himself before trying to speak again.

"John? Are you alright?" Finch grew concerned by Reese's silence and feared he'd done something wrong until John spoke.

"Good job..." He heavily blinked. "You'll have to... feed a tube in... same way. Then seal everything. Vaseline... Gauze... Duct tape..."

Finch rummaged through the med-bag until he found a clear, finger width tub coiled up in a sterile plastic container. "Mr. Reese, my hat is certainly off to your thorough stocking of our medical bags."

"Learned... the hard way..." John simply stated.

Finch grimaced at his own comment, realizing too late it was a distressing complement. Mr. Reese's knowledge came first hand, having actually endured the need for each item in the bag.

Finch swiped at the perspiration collect on his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "Ready?"

"And waiting..."

With shaking hands he slowly guided the tube along the track. He had no idea how far to go, though common sense would suggest far enough to syphon the fluids, but not so far as to press up against anything, _but how far was that?_ "Mr. Reese I'm not sure when to stop."

John looked down, seeing the flow of reddish fluid filling the tub, "that'll do, Finch..." He drowsily directed.


	31. Chapter 32

As the fluid drained from his chest, so too did the excruciating pressure and strangling tension. Reese was suddenly beyond exhausted. He honestly hadn't been aware how bad he felt until things eased and his shallow breathing deepened and slowed to a more normal pace. "Told you," he whispered watching Harold through heavy lidded eyes. "Cake walk..."

"I don't ever want to see what you'd consider difficult, Mr. Reese." He sadly grinned, working to attach a bag of IV fluids to an arching lamp then slide it over to Reese. This was something he was more than familiar with.

Reese was almost asleep when he inserted the line, "I'm going to give you something for the pain."

Either he was considering the question or had passed out, but it took too long of a moment for John to answer. "John?" Harold sounded a bit stricken.

"No, I'm good No drugs..."

"And yet, somehow I don't believe that." Same song, different verse, Harold mused. Mr. Reese always dug in when it came to drugs compromising his senses, even when they already had been by pain. Obviously he felt he still had a job to do, but despite what Mr. Reese was thinking, there was no way he could venture back out on any sort of rescue mission, nor did he believe Anthony would show up anytime soon. "As far as our perpetrators know, their two men, Flint, and his unseen partner have all been lost to the storm."

Undeterred, Finch drew up a mix of Fentanyl and Midazolam. "John. The storm is at its worst, use this moment to your advantage. You need to give your body a rest, before resuming any ill-advised mission." He listened to the pummeling onslaught helping to prove his point. "The SUV needs my code, but no one, including Eleanor and Anthony would dare challenge this even if they could start it. It would be suicide."

John just stared at Harold, blinking in the slow rhythm of contemplation.

While the chest tube helped, the problem was still there. He had a bullet lodged somewhere in his chest, and judging by the deep red of the fluid, it had played one descent game of pinball with his insides. It wasn't going to resolve itself with a little R&R, and the longer he waited, the weaker he'd get.

Of course he didn't say that to Harold. Finch needed to wind down as much as he did, and was right about the storm having them all trapped. "Ok. But a low dose." Reese conceded. "Because as soon as this storm lightens.., and they realized the SUV is useless.., they'll be back here trying to salvage one of their trucks."

"Finch," John took a couple deep breaths, "they plan to take Edward back to the city to kill him."

"To make it look like a mob hit."

Reese nodded. "I'm... compromised... and we're down to one handgun."

"And a well-trained guard dog, Mr. Reese. Please rest. They won't get away with it." Harold watched as Reese ran-down, and his body visually relaxed into the cushions under the anesthetizing mixture.

"Call Carter.., let her know... incase we don't stop them."

Finch cringed, not wanting to rile John with the loss of his phone. They'd simply have to make sure Anthony and Eleanor were stopped.

"Wake me... if..." John slurred and finally gave in.

With John resting, Harold stoked the fire then exhaustedly collapsed into the recliner next to Reese. It was going to be a long night, he realized. Between listening to the ravaging storm trying its darndest to knock the rest of the cabin down, and carefully hanging on John's every breath, Finch couldn't let his guard down.

Earlier, Finch had been too preoccupied, or perhaps too fearful, to ask the question now nagging him with worry. True removing the fluid relieved John's immediate threat, but obviously the bleeding was coming from somewhere and was neither endless nor without consequence. Won't he slowly just bleed to death?

A soft whine had Finch nearly up when he realized it had been Bear. "Oh Bear, I'm so sorry. It's ok come here boy." Finch whispered.

Poor dog, he had faithfully obeyed and stayed across the room while Finch worked on Reese. He could absolutely understand the need for reassurance that his master was alright, and smiled when Bear immediately laid down right between them.

Harold let his eyes linger on his friend, glad for the bit of color that had somewhat returned to his lips, but For the hundredth time, Harold questioned his choice to limit the machine to providing only a number. The lack of information had nearly gotten John killed. He was lucky to have survived Anthony's convincing charade, though at what cost. They were literally not out of the woods yet.


	32. Chapter 33

"Pulled an all nighter, huh?" Fusco set a cup of coffee on his partner's desk feeling bad at her exhausted and haggard appearance. "Still can't get them?"

Joss held her pounding head, but controlled herself from barking at the one person who could understand her frustration. "I've been trying four hours..."

"Well maybe it's just the storm. You know, communications down all over."

She wished it were that simple. "Their using sat-phones, Fusco. We should still be able to get through."

Fusco frowned, studying the contemplation on his partners face, he knew she'd been chewing on some kinda dangerous idea. She had a thing for Tall-Dark-n-Scary, but he couldn't let her do something crazy. John would have his head. "Look, I'm sure Reese is fine, in fact.., I'll beat he's lovin' the extra challenge. Wonder-boy's demented that way... Besides, Glasses has his four-legged razor-blade with him - s'no one getting near him without loosing and arm." He rolled his chair around to her desk. "Look, the roads are closed, Carter. No car is moving anywhere in this. There's nothing we can do."

"The worst of the storm has already hit. Fusco, John's missing, maybe injured, Finch is going through god knows what, and worst of all, they have no back up..."

Carter's eyes lit on his with an eerily calm and equally terrifying look of crazy-determination, frighteningly similar to the one he'd seen on John way to many times.

"You're right - no _car_ can make it out..." She wickedly grinned.

"Oh crap... I'm so gonna regret this aren't I..."

* * *

"At least sit down, Mr. Reese." Harold drug a stool to the window where John lurked. "You'll wear yourself out before anyone shows up. If they show up. As it is, I'm sure the cold is doing you no favors." Reese had been up, standing guard, the moment the sun rose and the sedatives effects wore off.

"A hot stove would have given away our presence, Finch. I can't take them on all at once. We need the element of surprise."

"I understand that, but at least let the tube work for as long as possible. Bear will alert us to any incoming danger."

John just continued his vigilant scanning. "They'll be making their move soon."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Cuz I would." Reese turned to Finch with a shadowed look. "By stealing parts.., one of those trucks could be made to limp outta here."

"Then at least..." Finch stilled at John's suddenly raised hand.

Through the dim twilight and lightening snowfall Reese could make out five targets moving in single file from the western woods. "Least Edward's still alive."

"Thank goodness for that. What do we do?"

"We hide. They're gonna want to warm up and stash Edward while they see about the trucks. We need to stay out of sight until the timings right."

"And how will we know when that'll be?"

"Trust me, we'll know."

As predicted the five people headed straight toward the cabin first. Their loud, unguarded voices assured Reese they had no suspicions about anyone being there, and the smoldering rubble genuinely masked any smoke from their fire.

"I'll watch him." Eleanor spat. "Miles, you said you're a mechanic? See what you can do so we can get out of this frozen hell hole."

Anthony poked at the stove, intending on making a fire. "This feels kinda warm. Warmer than it should be overnight." He stated in alarm.

"Everything still feels warm from the explosion." Eleanor corrected. "Why? You actually think Flint's partner could have made it here in the storm?"

Anthony tilted his head, "Hell, I'd say anything's possible when it's connected to that psychotic do-gooder."

"Dammit! We can't have any witnesses for this to work!" Eleanor whined.

"Jarod. Sweep the house and grounds - make sure it's clear. If someone's alive, find him and kill him. An extra hundred grand is yours for his head. "

"No, wait... We need that code."

"Fine. Get the code. Then kill him." Both mother and son share an agreeing smile.

"With pleasure." The meaty mercenary checked his rifle clip with and departed with a satisfied, toothy snarl of greedy anticipation.

Every word floated down the hall in un-muffled clarity, Reese turned to Harold and motioned him back behind the hot tub along with Bear.

Eleanor's mechanically inclined lackey popped through the ruined back door with overly confident disregard.

_His last mistake._

Reese laced an arm around the man's throat, clamping down in a vising sleeper-hold. The large man struggled, but his bulky gloves doing little damage as he clawed in vein to get free. Reese braced up against the wall as much for support as cover and felt the squirming battle start subsiding to nothing more than a few involuntary twitches. But it was only a ruse, as a last-ditch effort the Merc pulled a five-inch blade, and stabbed behind him. Reese arched to the side, narrowly avoiding the full penetration of the steel. Releasing the hold with his right hand, he swept down to twist the knife away and smashed the handle into the militant's temple. "Lights out." Reese huffed, dragging the man behind the woodpile. "Ok Harold."

Finch emerged from his unseen spot with a whisper, "Bear has been transfixed in that direction."

"Must be scouting. Stay hidden."

"Watch your chest tub Mr. Reese."

"I'll try to watch the rest too." John glibly answered and vanished below the cabin's deck just as a distant boot scuff confirmed Bear's warning.

The henchman was trolling alright, for blood, money and Finch - probably in that order - John mused tracking the heavy man moving along the destroyed side of the cabin.

Picking them off one by one was all John thought he could handle right now and with only four rounds left in his gun, he needed to keep things quiet. Discovering Finch or his fallen companion, was certainly not a part of that tactic. And Bear had no volume control when it came to his attacks.

Reese moved as fast as he could without making any noise above the still howling winds. He ignored the clawing burn in his chest as his lungs fought for restricted oxygen. Despite Harold's protests, they'd pinched and taped the tub to his body, and unfortunately he could already feel the clamping squeeze increasing.

Eleanor's guard was almost on top of Finch. Reese picked up a chunk of debris and tossed it into the jagged ruins where the car port used to be.

The gun-man obediently whirled, rifle held at the ready, as he switched directions and stalked toward the sound.

John pressed to the inside of a remaining wall, armed with the knife, and struck before approaching Merc cleared the thresh hold. This man however, did not enter with the cluelessness of his friend. He was ready.

"Wasn't born... yesterday!" The man barked jamming Reese's out-thrust knife-hand into the charred wood and followed with a close-quarters elbow aimed for John's head.

Reese turned, blocking the blow and side-stepped, placing himself in a better position to pull and spin the dangling rifle by its strap, cinching it across the man's throat as he buried the soldier's face into the wall. "Hope not... you'd... make... one... ugly... baby." Reese quipped.

The perp growled and forcefully shoved them both backward into the hulk of what remained of Finch's SUV.

The crushing poundage gave Reese little choice but to loosen his hold, but it was the two backward jabbed elbows hammering into his side that stole his advantage.

After all his years of combat, how they always knew were the injuries were was a mystery John had yet to solve.

The Merc grinned with wicked victory seeing Reese protectively folding into his side. "I thought that spoiled punk nailed you. Couldn't stay dead huh?"

"It's... all the rage... these days." Reese panted. "Everyone's doing it."

With a laugh, the perp dove in for another bombardment of targeted assaults to his quarry's areas of weakness.

John knew, if the hulking soldier landed any one of the unyielding blows, Finch and Edward would be dead.

Lucky, though strong, the soldier was a more a predictable, down-and-dirty brawler, lacking any adaptive technics. Between parries, Reese jabbed at the soldiers un-armored areas: head, neck, armpits and groin. Each counter-block gave way to smooth and effective transitions, bit by bit crippling and backing his attacker into the wall.

Even regaining the upper-hand didn't save him entirely. For every landed kick or punch, Reese suffered the torturous shock waves from the connecting impacts. He needed to end this and get some oxygen into his lungs before he passed out.

Between heavy breaths, the Merc rasped his promised threat. "Hundred grand says you're mine." Intent on collecting his bounty, the large man grabbed a long, jagged chunk of wood and advanced.

_A flawed choice._ Reese smiled, and quickly stepped inside the swing, passed the sweet-spot, and easily intercepted the blow. Putting everything he had into a powerhouse fist, he drove his middle knuckle into the fragile temple bones of the now slack-jawed soldier unceremoniously crumpling amongst the ruble. "Think again."

Reese stepped passed the fallen man. "That was messy," he wheezed, regretting the wear-and-tear he could ill afford, because this wasn't over! A gunshot jerked his attention to the back of the house, just as Bear's ravaging growls caused his heart hammer. "Finch!"

Fear ramped adrenaline jetted through his veins, sending him up the stairs at a dead-run, ready to mow down anyone endangering Finch. But he didn't expect to come face to face with Anthony, armed and charging at him from the front door in a frenzied attack.

With absolutely no interested in sparing him a second, or getting shot again, Reese picked up a chair a flung it at Anthony.

He couldn't have predicted how impressively tangling it would became with Anthony's cycling legs, or how effectively it would cause him to stagger and flip over the porch railing.

_Their masterful villain.., taken out by a chair._ Reese would have laughed had it not been for the unmistakable sound of a ratcheting shotgun ruining the moment.

"You're so gonna regret that!"

Reese gingerly raised his hands and slowly turned around. "Would still be worth it."

"You!" Eleanor's eyes grew wide in surprised fury. "What is it with you? Cheating death once wasn't enough?"

"Figured I was on a roll..." He innocently smirked.

"Then you figured wrong. That bastard must be paying you the moon to be so willing to die for him!"

"First ones a freebie."

Eleanor stammered, "you have no idea what kind of man you are protecting. If you did you'd be helping me."

"I can't blame you for hating Edward, I honestly don't like the guy, and I agree he should be punished. But think about what your need for revenge has done to your son. You're ruining Anthony's life as much as Edward has. You really want to see your son end up a killer, incapable of separating right from wrong?" Reese noted the tremor in her hand, the shredded jacket and droplets of blood hitting the deck.

"Anthony needs closure! To truly be free! So save the sermon, and this time, Mr. Flint... you'll stay dead." Eleanor raised her shotgun and pulled the trigger.

Reese felt the percussion of the blast, and the pelting rain of splinters covering his body. But the expected spray of lead ripping through his flesh was absent, and look of glazed-eyed shock was not his. Eleanor dropped the shotgun, wavered and pitched forward to the ground.

Reese admiringly stepped forward, looking through the new hole in the roof of the deck. "Nice swing Harold," he said still surprised at not being aerated.

Finch stood over the unconscious woman in wide-eyed disbelief, still gripping the dense fire log in one hand and Bear's collar in the other. "I'm fairly certain _'nice'_ had nothing to do with it Mr. Reese." He wasn't a violent man by nature, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to feel entirely _bad_ either.

"Finch where's Edward?"

"Still tied up inside?" Finch grimaced.

"You alright?"

"Thanks to Bear. She shot at us, but Bear had other ideas on the subject."

"Looks like he did a pretty good job too." Reese stepped close to Harold, "but she still got you," and inspected the trickle of blood seeping from between Harold's fingers.

"It's truly nothing Mr. Reese." Finch's expression suddenly drew away in growing shock. "I dare say Edward is in far worse shape!"

Reese spun, following Finch's stare in time to catch Anthony disappearing into the tree line with his bound father in tow.

"Where could Anthony be taking him?"

"I doubt he even knows." Reese rolled his eyes in exhaustion. "I'll get him. Watch her. Take care of your wound."

"Mr. Reese, I believe I can be of more help to you. Thanks to my barbaric efforts, Mrs. Wright isn't going anywhere."

"I can handle Anthony." But his argument just became less convincing when a dizzy spell had him using the cabin to steady himself.

"Mr. Reese... John, consider the severity of your injuries." Finch didn't miss the undone tube hanging just bellow Reese's jacket.

"I am. I consider them a pain-in-my-ass." He growled. "Edward's time is running out." He all but shook with the effort of bending to collect the shotgun.

"You maybe able to tolerate the pain Mr. Reese, however I'm sure even _you_ need oxygen. Edward's time will be irrelevant if you collapse halfway there." Harold ignored Reese's scowling protests and quickly pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket.

"You're becoming quite the fast draw with that duct tape Finch."

"I pale to say, I'll never look at the stuff the same way, but I've dealt with you enough to know even crude attention can make all the difference."

John unzipped his jacket and let Harold hurriedly re-crimp and wrap the tube along with his newly bleeding wounds. "It won't help the fluid accumulation, but at least it would be adding air..."

Finch's newfound role as team-medic wasn't one Reese would have chosen for his friend, but right now, the way he felt, he was glad for the support. And as for the other part, he already knew from recent experience, regardless of what he said, he couldn't change Finch's mind. "Ok. But if you're coming you're taking this. There may be a shortage of handy fire logs."

With trepidation Finch took the offered pistol as if it bore a fetid stench, while wondering when it was that he'd transitioned from IT tech to frontline combatant and pseudo-medic. But in truth, any ridge definitions were just naive notions. The fact was, this job contained as many shades as existed between black and white, right and wrong, good and bad. "Ready Mr. Reese."


	33. Chapter 34

The scant traces of footprints were quickly fading under the blowing powder, but with a general heading, and Bear's nose.., Reese had little trouble tracking Anthony. It was where they were headed that troubled him.

Despite Reese's injuries Finch struggled to keep up. "How could this family have ended up so broken?" Harold panted. "True Edward is a calculating and unscrupulous business man, but that doesn't explain how he could have abused his child and tried to murder his wife. I'll never pretend to understand the workings of such a mind."

"They're not the actions of a good man." He certainly didn't condone Anthony and Eleanor's actions either, but at least their motives he got; Edward on the other hand, he agreed with Finch. "I don't need to understand people like that to stop them. I'm not saving him from death," Reese met Harold's questioning eyes, "I'm saving him so he gets punished for what he did."

Hunting Anthony would have been easier if he'd been doing this for money, greed, or spite, but as it was, John felt sorry for the young man, even after being shot by him. He knew what is was like to be driven by hate and revenge, and to lose faith in... everything. He also knew how easy it was to lose touch with humanity when you let those feelings consume you. "No buying his way out of this one." He hissed through clenched teeth and pressing on.

"Do you believe we are close?"

Without warning, Reese stopped, staring off a worried frown.

"What is it Mr. Reese?" Finch pressed.

"The way he's veered will lead them straight over the river. I was worried about that."

"Isn't the water well frozen?"

"Not always." Still waters were one thing, froze easily, solidly and quickly; rivers however, were altogether another animal, always fighting winter's halting attempts with every ounce of is thrashing strength. "It'll freeze unpredictably, with some parts solid others dangerously thin. Anthony won't know the difference until it's too late."

Finch cringed. "Then we need to stop him."

Bear grew anxious and whined with their closing proximity.

"Good job buddy." Reese rubbed Bear's head watching Anthony lingered a step behind Edward, his gun aimed at the back of his father's head as he herded him on. "They're just about there, but maybe it's not too late."

John gave Bear the order to stay, not wanting the dog to unwittingly succumb to the invisible trap or scare their Numbers forward. Bear begrudging complied, but not without a whimper of frustration at watching both his masters leave him. "Bear blijven.

"We'll be right back." Finch reaffirmed. "Can we warn them?"

Reese nodded, "head along the tree line, wait about 100 yards down."

"I'm assuming there is no need to ask 'and then? because 'I'll know?'"

Reese smiled, "you're catching on Finch," then turned, trenching his way to the clearing through the deeply piled snow. The the snow had all but stopped, the ripping winds only gained strength as trees drew back.

Almost to their Numbers, John didn't have the strength of breath to call out over the clashing branches, and at this angle he didn't have a clear shot. But he could certainly fire off an attention grabber.

* * *

The shotgun blast cracked an echoing blast across the clearing.

Both Numbers crouched against the sudden attack. Anthony spun around, using his father as a shield while wildly firing a couple shots at the shadowed figure now ducking behind the nearest tree.

The shots embedded into the bark around Reese. "Anthony. You need to stop moving! You're about to cross the river." Reese called out as loud as he could.

"How are you even still alive! I shot you!"

John rolled his eyes, "You're not the marksmen you claim to be." He goaded.

"You know what kind of monster you're trying to die for? Why won't you just leave it alone! It doesn't concern you! " He yelled, and pointed his gun at his dad's head.

John shrugged. "It's kinda my thing..."

Suddenly Edward began pleading under his gag in muffled cries.

"Save it. Whatever you're trying to say is nothing but more lies." Anthony screamed while his hand trembled with its white-knuckled hold on the gun. "God help me... I should have killed you years ago!"

John could tell Anthony was reaching his breaking point.

"Anthony!" Reese yelled. "There are better ways to make him pay for his crimes."

He spun back on Reese as if he'd forgotten he was there. "You won't save him!"

A demented smile twitched to Anthony's lips right before his gun muzzle bucking with the 115 grain load.

The young Mr. Wright had actually proved to be a formidable shot, but rattled and passed reason, the bullet thankfully missed - this time.

Reese's goal had been to stop them, and take Anthony's attention off Edward. It worked, if crudely. The gun wasn't aimed at Edward's head anymore,_ it_ was safely pointed at him, but with Edward still being used as a human shield. This wasn't going as planned, _well if there had been a plan_, he grunted.

Reese raised his hands in surrender. "Wait, Anthony listen... the river isn't safe. It doesn't freeze solid. Move back this way and I'll show you a safe path across. The way we went before, remember?"

For a fleeting moment it seemed as if the crazed man considered the option, until his father broke away and ran two steps before Anthony screamed, "STOP!" and fired the weapon, twice hitting the ice next to his father's feet.

Edward froze in bewildered horror as a tweaking sound followed, spreading beneath them both.

"Get off the ice!"

"You're just trying to play me! I've come to far!"

"You won't accomplish anything if you lose your life."

But John's logic went ignored as Anthony yanked his father back into the gun, firmly re-aimed at the back of the terrified man's head.

"It will if he dies too." Anthony's voice shook as much from the stress as the cold.

Reese could take him down, but only having a shotgun setup with a modified choke meant the spread would hit Anthony, Edward and the ice, likely killing them all. So Reese tried a different approach. "Ok. I'm putting my gun down. You can still kill him.., just move off the ice first."

His eyes frantically darted between Reese and the ice, as if trying to gage the truth in John's words, until a dark suspicion shadowed his glare. "I don't trust you!"

"I know you need a code to start the SUV, I have that. I also know the safe way back to the other cabin. Come off the ice and I'll go with you. No tricks."

Anthony pulled back slightly, eyeing the hunched and guarded way Flint was standing. He'd seen the bullet holes from the sniper hits, and he was positive he'd shot him himself. It was still a mystery how the hell the guy could be alive, but at least he was sure Flint was no match for him now, at least not without a gun, or damn chair! "Ok! Toss the gun, and your jacket too. So I know you aren't packing!"

Finch involuntarily shook his head, watching the increasingly disturbing situation play out with mounting fear. He knew John was more compromised than he let on, and now he was all but offering himself, on a frozen platter, to this insane killer. The temperatures were still dangerously cold, and exposing himself would be a short-lived mistake.

Reese complied with Anthony's requests, dropped the shotgun and shed his gear. "Do we have a deal?"

"Fine," they took a step toward John. "Huh uh, leave the jacket. It'll make you less apt to pull a fast one if you're too cold to move."

"I won't last long enough to get you there."

"Somehow, I think if anyone can, it'll be you. Now back off!."

Reese kept his hands up, trying to look as none threatening as possible, then realized he probably already did. He just needed to get Anthony and Edward safely off the ice before he and Finch could make a move. Unfortunately time wasn't on his side now. The cold was already taking its toll, causing his battered muscles to cramp and trigger agonizing spasms that made it nearly impossible to relax and breathe.

"See... knew I got you." Anthony proudly smiled at seeing John's bloodied patchwork of bandages and duct tape. "You look like shit, Flint. You should'a quite while you were ahead." He gloated.

Reese was on the verge of making his move, keeping Finch in his peripheral view just waiting for Anthony to feel adequately confident with the situation and take a few more steps... Then Anthony stopped.

"Actually, that's not a bad philosophy. I get why Mom wants to wait, stick it to the Russian too. But honestly, I could give a rat's ass about that. I just want him dead, so why wait until you find a way to fuck it up again!"

Suddenly everything slowed. Anthony brought the gun to his father's head. The falling snow hovered in midair, stilling on halted winds as his fingers flexed on a stiff trigger. All around them the swaying forest became motionless witness forced to watch the frozen last seconds of a life Reese lunged to save.

The gun recoiled against Reese's outstretched fingertips while his diving body pummeled and skewed everything off dead-center. Edward was roughly cast to the side while Reese cut Anthony to the ground.

It was so close, Reese stole reaffirming glimpse of Edward as they hit the ground. The bullet may still have grazed some hair, but nothing a week and a barber couldn't fix. If he could keep him alive that long.

The battle was on. Anthony fought with the frenzied nature of cornered animal, scraping and clawing with a singular purpose, but instead of that being survival, it was for his freedom to end his father's tyranny.

John punched the inexperienced man with practiced efficiency, but the younger man fought back with vigorous fury, spitting venomous words while trying to land a blow to anyone of his opponent's glaring injuries.

"I'm... gonna... end... you!" Anthony grunted between attempted blows, until taking a well planted fist to his own stomach.

Reese risked a backward glance, catching Finch helping Edward away from the ice, when the sound of impending danger again cracked beneath them.

Finch heard it too, the gut-wrenching tweak and groan, and moved toward John.

"No! Stay... ba..ck Fi...nch!" The pained words were barely discernible between their traded blows. "Anthony...the...ice...is breaking!"

Harold cringed as John's warning went unheeded and they continued their awkward dance on the slippery snow-covered ice. Normally, such an inferior fighter would have been no match for Mr. Reese and dispatched in seconds, but he was strong, protected by thick clothing, and lost to his determined madness - somewhat evening the odds.

Finch pulled and yanked him farther away from the perilous ground. "Mr. Wright, please we need to back up!"

Reese struggled against himself as much as their perpetrator. The cold made everything that much harder and more painful. It was like fitting through a pit of freezing quicksand laced with ground glass, with a plastic bag over your head. And his initial launch to save Edward had cost him. His injured body's proverbial last-straw, and still he couldn't stop.

Anthony repeatedly targeted his wounds, finally landing a couple of debilitating shots that left Reese reeling and Anthony with the chance to latch an arm around his throat from behind.

Tony was surprised at not being able to easily beat the injured man. "Just..fucking...die...already!" He screamed the words through gritted teeth while strangling the insane bodyguard.

Horrified to see the younger man leveraging his arm around John's throat, Finch knew Reese would only have moments before he blacked out.

He pulled the gun from his pocket fired into the air above them.

Anthony's attention jumped to the new threat giving Reese a window to buck and flip the deranged man over his shoulder.

Anthony flailed, landing with an unexpected slap. The fragile ground suddenly caved, swallowing him in a violent explosion of spewing ice and water that quickly ate away at the hole's edges.

Anthony thrashed, searching in panicked vain for something more to grab among the fistfuls of useless snow and jagged ice.

John flattened to his belly, distributing his weight across the ice while desperately sucking air through his bruised throat. Even before his vision fully cleared he was sliding to the crumbling edge and reaching for the frantic man. "Grab my hand!" He hoarsely yelled.

Reese's broken voice didn't seem to penetrate Anthony's petrified shock or mindless flailing.

"Anthony!" Reese made another swiping grab for the man as he neared, and suddenly found himself sliding into the fridge waters. There was nothing to stop the deadly decent into the biting torrent, until he felt someone gripping his legs.

"I've got you Mr. Reese!"

Finch dug his heels to either side and pulled with all his terrified might, but he realized, with sickening dread, it was too late for their Number.

They could both only watch in powerless disbelief as the raging waters pulled Anthony down for a final time, trapping him beneath the tomb of ice.

"Give me your gun!" John hoarsely yelled over the river's roar.

"John there is no way you'll find him!"

John shoved from the hole, sliding from the unstable surface until it was safe to stand. He reflexively grabbed for his own gun, but only found its spot empty.

He stood, staring at the endless expanse of the hidden deathtrap. Finch was right, there was no way to know where Anthony had been swept. Even in complete silence it would be a miracle to hear the tiniest of sounds under the ice to know where to shoot. And by now the swift moving waters could have him anywhere. Hard as it was to accept, Anthony was lost.

Exhausted, frozen, and defeated, Reese buckled to his knees. "Mr. Reese..." Finch's voice sounded so distant, despite being right beside him. "We need to get you back."

Reese looked up at Harold, his words swimming in a haze as his soaked gloves were pulled from his shaking hands and Finch wrapped his own warmed jacket around his shivering body. "Tell Carter... I'm sorry."


	34. Chapter 35

An hour - by his watch. That was how long it actually taken to make the short distance back to the cabin, but it felt much, much longer. The nightmarish ordeal had Finch at the end of a frazzling rope.

Edward had all but shut down, after the lose of his son, becoming unresponsive to normal prompting. It took a great deal of verbal force, much of the time bordering on implied threats, to motivate the man into helping with a barely conscious Mr. Reese.

The decision to return to the destroyed cabin had been a difficult one, chosen simply on the basis of its shorter distance, despite the other having a vehicle and equipment. But Mr. Reese was in no condition to tolerate any added exposure or exertion.

As it was, there were many times along the way Finch questioned whether they'd make it even that far. Between Edward's questionable assistance and his limited support, Mr. Reese was still left to do too much himself, and by the time they'd reached the living room, he'd quit altogether. Mr. Reese collapsed to the floor in expended surrender.

Finch was terrified. Of course there were all his previous injuries to worry about, but now hypothermia had to be considered. He quickly pulled the couch cushions and did his best to gently work them under his friend, concentrating on his upper body.

"Mr. Wright? I'd appreciate if you could help with a fire?" Finch panted. No response. Edward no longer seemed to acknowledge Harold's existence, he'd simply melted into a distant window and stood staring in a catatonic stupor.

With exacerbated frustration, Finch saturated a few smaller logs with starter fluid, wasting no time to achieve a roaring fire in hopes of warming the dangerously cold ex-op.

Earlier, they'd simply pulled Eleanor just inside the cabin, far enough to prevent her from freezing, while Harold duct taped her hands and feet. Later, he'd see about getting her closer to the fire, yet far enough from Edward's immediate sight to prevent an incident he didn't have the time, or energy, to deal with.

Right now however, Reese was his priority. He was truly panicked by the sounds of his labored breathing, now far worse than before, and despite shaking hands, unzipped the jacket and skillfully unbound the drain tube, praying for even the slightest improvement.

Reese's last words struck his again. The sadness, the sacrifice, the longing... The thought that Carter would feel the same for John. It only made him more determined to save his friend.

Mr. Reese was running out of time, and their only hope was getting his SUV and back to the city for real help. But could he leave Reese with Mr. Wright?

The man had progressively grown more unstable, now incoherently muttering and gesturing to himself. Certainly he'd had no love for Mr. Reese prior to the death of his son, Finch was sure he'd gladly see him dead now. Not something Finch would risk. He'd have to take Edward along and just hope John could hold on.

Finch laid a hand on Reese's shivering shoulder, "I'm going to get the truck Mr. Reese. Just hang on. I'll be back." Finch softly muttered and moved to stand just as a pair of shoes stepped into view. Finch looked up in question. "Mr. Wright?"

He expected to see Edward's broken and lost stare, instead met the focused eyes of pure hate and determined intent staring from behind the barrel of a gun.

"You're not going anywhere."

"Please Mr. Wright, you must see this won't help you."

"You give me the key and code - see how much that helps. That bitch tried to kill me, turned my son against me, and Flint here.., he... he killed him. I'm not going to prison, so only one getting out of here is me."

Any ambitious ideas to disarm the revenge-driven man failed to come as Finch sat on the floor and let his shoulders slump with the unconscionable turn of events. Reese was right to not even try understanding such a man. "Edward.., I'm too tired and concerned about my friend to care about seeing you goto prison. No one needs know about your past." He lied, "and you must see... that John tried with everything he had to save you and your son."

"If there's one thing I've learned working with Flint... is that he's a true-blue diehard for justice, no matter who gets in the way. You're his partner, so no way you'll leave this alone." He gripped the gun with both hands.

Finch had no idea how he'd gotten the gun from his pocket, or how many rounds where left? One? Maybe two..? But at this range it would be a fatal gamble. "You'll be killing us all. I won't give you the code."

"You will if I..." Mid-sentence, Edward suddenly yelped, dropping the gun to flail his arms above his head as his feet where swept from under him.

Finch stared with dumbstruck awe, as their would-be killer smacked against the hardwood floor with a bouncing crack. "They never... just say... thank you..."

Finch scrambled to his friend. "Not often enough I'm afraid. I however won't miss the opportunity. Thank you Mr. Reese! How are you feeling?"

The response was slow. "Been... better... Duct tape...him."

"Indeed. I think at this point I'll have to consider buying stock in the company. Try to rest Mr. Reese, I'm..."

Reese's weak smile darkened to an adrenaline fueled snarl when he came to his knees with a singular fluidity that shouldn't have been possible, and shoved Harold clear of his gun, now firmly aimed at the two armed shadows moving into his clouded view.


	35. Chapter 36

"Least we know we found the right place." Fusco declared bringing his cousin's '_borrowed'_ hunting rig to a sliding stop nearly over the porch steps. "Everything looks quiet."

"Now. And too quiet." Carter's fears had already been running wild, but at seeing the massive amount of destruction, and how crazy things must have gotten.., they were an indiscernible mess.

The two detectives dropped from the monstrous suburban 4x4, with guns out and cautiously made their way to the crumbling cabin in search of any signs of life or lingering threats. The threat they found was not one they would have expected.

"Finch... stay down!" Reese growled.

Finch hunkered out of reflex, emphatically trusting Reese's instincts and only ventured a sideways glimpse of what inexplicable new peril now befell the two ragged partners.

"What the?" Fusco immediately put his hands and gun in the air in quick surrender. "Hey easy there Rambo - it's us! What the hell?"

"John! Put the gun down! It's Carter and Fusco!" Joss implored, careful to make an exaggerated effort of holding her gun out to the side in a neutral gesture.

Precariously balanced on his knees, Reese didn't respond, nor did he moved off his targets.

Neither Detective dared provoke the clearly delirious John Reese, knowing even in this condition, or more so because of it, he was extremely deadly.

"Mr. Reese...we are not in danger." Finch slowly rose from the ground, "We're safe." His gentle promise was accompanied by a coaxing hand laid upon Reese's arm.

Bear whimpered in confusion, feeling the fight response emanating from his master and yet unsure why it would be felt toward other pack members. Though he wagged, he stayed on cautious alert.

Slowly, Finch's words began to penetrate, overriding the last vestiges of his deep-seeded instincts. "Joss?" He frowned through unfocused eyes and lowered his weapon finally succumbing the blanketing darkness veiling his mind.

Finch caught him before he hit the floor.

"What gives! Boy-Wonder ain't firing on all cylinders." Fusco huffed holstering his weapon.

Carter fell to her knees and gently helped Finch roll John back onto the cushions. Her stomach clenched at the site of him, so pal, almost bluish, cold yet sweating, and obviously out of it. "Finch he's in shock. How long's he been like this? What happened?"

"He's considerably worsened since his last encounter with Anthony... Given his state, I suspect more damage was done."

"Damage?" Her eyes traveled over the tube and bandages. "He was shot... in the chest?" The meaning hit her with dire clarity.

Soot and blood smudged Finch's haggard face as he sadly looked from his friend to Carter. "By Anthony. Yes."

By the look of Harold, he'd been through almost as much as John. "His breathing is shallow and his heart rate's all over the place. We need to get him out of here!" Carter scanned room, noting the littering shell casings, smoke-bomb canisters, shattered glass and splintered wood. It had been a literal war zone right down to the bound prisoners. "I don't see Anthony, he didn't make it?"

"No." Regret passed over Harold's eyes. "Lost to unforgiving revenge and the river's fury."

Fusco chimed in kneeling at Edward's side. "Why's Edward all tied up? Thought he was the one they were all gunning for?"

Finch pondered the question for a second. "And still true, but as it turns out he was more than just a victim. Not only did he confess to trying to murder his wife five years ago, he abused both she and Anthony for years. And only minutes ago, tried to kill Mr. Reese and myself. If not for John's intervention, he may well have succeeded."

Carter knew they'd feel the guilt of Anthony's death, but looking at them now, she just couldn't bring herself to feel an iota of remorse.

"I'll start loading Mr. and Mrs. 'War-of Roses.'"

"Fusco, hold on... " Joss turned to Finch, "you have any drugs?" An ulterior motive colored the question.

"We do..."

Fusco immediately picked up on his partner's intentions and shrugged, "hey - I didn't hear a thing..," but smiled a slightly evil grin at the, now awake and struggling, Edward. "I like it when they don't argue."

Finch hurriedly drew the appropriate mix of sedatives and handed them to Fusco. "Detective, I hate to state the obvious, but unless you brought a bus, where do you intend to seat everyone? And a dog?"

"Well Bear's just gonna have to snuggle, but those guys... I wasn't thinking they'd be 'seated." With a mischievous snarl she added, "besides, it's cold, they wouldn't mind conserving the body heat."

Finch couldn't hide the of surprise at her uncharacteristic solution.

"Hey, we'll have enough to deal with without a backseat brawl." She defended.

"Mr. Reese is most definitely rubbing off on you..." Finch looked at Joss with a gentle but sad smile.

"Not sure that was a complement, but I'll take it."

"I assure you Detective, it was meant as nothing but."

"He'll need some thing too. It's gonna be a tough trip."

"He cautioned against its suppressing effect on compromised breathing."

She cringed at the long shelved memory re-surfacing from her field training back in the army, and at hearing Reese groan just from them just simply preparing to move him. Emotionally she was fractured, just trying to hold herself together by what shreds of control she had were utterly ripped apart at the sight of the invincible hero, the man she cared so deeply for, laying far too still.

"Ready Partner?" Fusco asked, luckily returning from situating their prisoners. "We'd better hurry. Soon as those meds wear off, the natives'll start eating each other."

Fusco smoothly took her place at John's shoulders. "I'll take Tall Dark and Heavy, you guys grab a leg. And don't worry. He'll be ok - he always is."

Carter gave a weak smile of appreciation, matching the one attempting its way to Finch's face. "I'm not certain how you both managed this, but we are in your debt Detectives. And if I had to guess, Mr. Reese would be highly impressed by the impossible nature of it."

"Yeah he does like a grand rescue."

* * *

Carter sat on the floorboards of the backseat beside Reese, trying her best to steady and brace them both again the jumbling over every rocking rut and dropping hole. At first Reese had responded in silent grimaces or low groans, now Carter paled to see nothing at all. "Fusco.., hurry." She heard her voice waver. "He's hardly breathing!"

Fusco gripped the wheel and pushed the massive Suburban harder and passed smart.

Finch gripped the seat to crane his stiff body to look back in powerless horror.

And Carter gripped John's shoulders. "You stay with me! Fight! You hear me! Don't you quite!" She pleaded.

With the heavy hunting rig screaming toward the city, loaded with its seven passengers, and pushed beyond its limits of safety.., neither Fusco, Finch nor Carter would remember the harrowingly brutal mountain roads, the treacherous ice-slicked highways, or the endless, unplowed maze of city streets...

They would only remembered their friend, dying in the back seat.., and everything change.


	36. Chapter 37

As Finch shrugged into his coat, he had to fight to keep the exhaustion, guilt and depression at bay. They'd.., he'd... failed again, despite every effort. "Come on Bear." He mumbled.

There was thankfully no new number tonight, or at least not yet, Harold sighed, shutting his computers down for the night.

He pulled on his scarf and gloves, clipped Bear's leash, and locked the library cage behind him.

This was when it was the hardest, he admitted. When the lights went out and all he had, was dark silence, and time. Two things that didn't bode well for avoiding the ever looming, morbid reflection, doubt, and self-recrimination.

He missed Mr. Reese, both his physical presence and the ever constant connection of their voices. Not having that, he could understand Root's obsessive need to stay linked to the machine. In fact it wasn't obsessive at all, it was comforting company and shared reassurance. A reassurance that the fight mattered, that it was important even when things ended badly... that you weren't facing the, too often, daunting task alone.

He missed that. But it wasn't like he was really alone.

Detectives Fusco and Carter's help was immeasurable, though Carter hadn't been the same since returning from the mountains. She'd buried herself in work and only half-heartedly helped with the Numbers. On the surface she seemed distant and distracted, citing an increased workload as the cause, however he knew it went beyond that. What torment she was going through, Finch could only imagine, but was sure it had everything to do with Mr. Reese. And there was nothing he could do to help.

Things had been difficult at best, with two numbers in the last week. The first they managed to save, a car thief that had had the misfortune of stealing a car being used to transport drugs. Not a happy-ever-after for the car thief, but at least he was alive, and about half a million in designer drugs were off the streets. Still it couldn't east the devastating failure of the last assignment.

Finch eyed a bar in passing, for a second contemplating a drink to sooth stinging emotions before heading to the safe-house to meet Fusco and talk about their plans. Of course that was before the raw connection stopped him in his tracks as the details of the past days came crashing back.

* * *

Justin Steller, husband and father of three. Spent the last thirteen years of life scratching out a living running a local bar with his brother, Jag Steller. At first glance Finch detected no threat, both men were clean other than Justin's penchant for gambling, so he looked to that as a reason for why the machine had sent him Justin's number. An aggrieved loan shark, or some other insidious byproduct was the most likely of reasons. Though nothing presented itself.

On the third night of diligently following their Number, Finch watched Jag wait for his brother, as he did every night, in the bar's side alley. He would pull his truck around, enjoying an end-of-the night cigar, while waiting for Justin to lock up. He should have noticed something was off when Jag traded the habitual cigar for neurotically chain-smoking a pack of cigarettes with nary a breath from one to the next. Mr. Reese would have.

As soon as Justin stepped into the ally, the idling chevy was released forward in tire-squealing vengeance, and plowed Mr. Steller down in cold blood.

Finch fumbled his door open as fast as he could and limped across the street; his mouth gapped at the steer un-believability of what he'd just witnessed, and at the state of Mr. Steller. There was no need for an ambulance, and after a second of uncertainty, Finch melted back into the safety of his lincoln, just as another vehicle pulled in. It wasn't the brother returning in victory, or regret. It wasn't a good samaritan needlessly offering their assistance, or the NYPD whom he hadn't yet called. It was their reason.

Gloria Steller, Jag Steller's wife ran to Justin with unmistakable truth. Her wailing penetrated his reenforced cab as he watched her fall her knees and embraced her dead lover.

It was a good few minutes before Finch trusted his voice enough to call to the Detective.

"Finch. What's wrong?"

"I'm afraid this case had nothing to do with his gambling."

"Why what happened?"

"It was an affair..., with his brother's wife. Who put an indefinite end to it with his truck."

"You saying Jag killed his own brother?"

"I didn't identify his agitation in time. I should have noticed." Finch's voice trailed off.

"I'll put an APB out on Jag Steller. You ok? You didn't play hero?"

"I didn't confront him if that's what you are asking."

"Good. At least _you_ didn't get yourself killed." Her clipped comment did little to belay his overwhelming defeat.

He honestly couldn't remember if he'd responded after that, or if he had, what he'd said. All he remembered was returning to the library and slowly transferring Justin Steller's pictures from the case board to the other board. The one he kept in the side room who's faces haunting. Mr. Reese had all but stopped the growth of that wall...

Harold did his best to shake off tonight's events and continue on. Fusco would be expecting him.

"You want to stretch your legs before we head up?" The bounding excitement left no doubt as to the answer. "Ok, fetch!" Finch tossed the ball he kept stashed in his pocket, letting it bounce into the shadows of the private courtyard belonging the upper-end complex. He envied the joyful ignorance, and shared a few more throws before his own exhaustion threatened to keep him from making the last way up. "Ok Bear, that's enough let's go."

* * *

With a bone wary shy, Finch opened the security bolt of the reenforced door, and tried to imagine everything else shedding with his scarf, gloves, and coat.

"Was wondering when you'd show. Carter called, said they caught the guy sitting in the middle of the park. He's already confessed. You ok?"

"I'm honestly not certain I know Mr. Fusco."

"Listen. I've been doing this a long time. And I know you have this - whatever it is - way of getting information before things happen, but you know what? If there's anything that I've learned, is that you no matter how certain you are about something, people can always surprise you. And usually not in a good way. All you can do push on, cuz you know what, tomorrow's a different day. And they still need you."

Finch returned a weak smile at the consoling words from his unlikely sympathizer.

"And I think I have something that'll cheer you up."

Finch cooked his head in peeked interest as Fusco waved an arm to be followed. "Woke up a couple hours ago."

Finch could barely discern the overwhelming emotions that washed over him and stared at Fusco too afraid to ask the most obvious of questions.

"Don't look so worried. I ain't that lucky." Fusco stepped aside encouraging his awestruck friend. "He's his normal annoying self."

Finch swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and entered the room.

* * *

What he saw literally mended his damaged soul. Bear stood up on the edge of the hospital bed making sure there was no inch left un-licked by his greedy tongue. Mr. Reese wholly accepted the greeting without hesitation, until caught his partner's reverential look.

"A little help?" Reese begged in false need.

Finch moved to John's side, taking a seat in the well-worn chair, he'd spent so many of vigilant nights, and finally found his voice. "Gentle Bear, get down. I believe Mr. Reese's face is now adequately clean." He smiled as the dog bounded off, grabbing and shaking a toy in utter glee. The motion capturing the essence of how Finch felt too.

"You ok Harold?" Reese's voice was still hoarse from the intubation tubes removed only a few days ago.

Finch couldn't help the uncharacteristic laughter that erupted at John's ironic question. "I should be the one asking you that."

"I haven't looked in a mirror, Fusco won't let me out of bed, but I have a feeling if I did I'd look something like you."

"It has been a rather trying week."

"Week?"

Finch felt sorry for John's confusion. "I'm afraid it's been nearly that since we dealt with the Wrights."

Reese processed the lost time in his traditionally unreadable and stoic manner, just waiting for Finch to offer the literal missing pieces. "I'm afraid your injuries were quite severe, the doctors elected to keep you in an induced coma to give your body a better chance to heal."

"Thought I felt pretty rested. Guess that's one way to get some R&R."

Finch just shook his head at the only man he knew that could possibly make a joke out side of nearly dying.

Just then Fusco popped his head in. "Hey I'm outta here. See you tomorrow Professor. And you - stay put. No midnight strolls. Don't let him push you around even if he goes all puppy-eyes." Fusco shot Reese a crooked grin, thoroughly enjoying the look of annoyance left on Reese's face, but even more so that he was around to annoy.

"I appreciate your diligence Mr. Fusco and will take your warning to heart."

"Would you both please stop talking like I'm not sitting right here." John pouted.

"See you tomorrow Sunshine. You better get some rest too Harold. Didn't know you could get any paler."

"I intend to. Thank you Lionel."

With a wave, Fusco left the safe house, or in the case of this last week, their make shift hospital, ICU and crash pad.

Finch sank deeper into the chair hooking his feet under the bed frame and felt the first pulls of possible real sleep in several days.

"You and Fusco bonded." John taunted.

"It's amazing what can rise from the ashes of tragedy."

"Speaking of tragedy. What happened to the Wrights?"

Reese's familiar low whisper was a missed comfort Harold now found lulling him toward semi-relaxation. "Awaiting trial I would surmise. Besides being a deplorable father, the evidence that he contracted to kill his wife was significantly damning. I trust a jury will make the proper decision, as well as find Eleanor appropriately guilty of her crimes in light of the situation."

"And Anthony?"

"Until winter's end, I doubt anyone will find him."

Finch caught John's far away stare. By the carefully schooled exterior, he knew John would take the loss of their Number hard, albeit internal. He always did. Finch understood why of course, and with tonight's events, it was still salt in his very raw wounds as well.

Despite questioning their effectiveness, they couldn't lose sight of the big picture to a shroud of self-doubt. Their work was too vital to those in danger that would otherwise go ignored. "We are our own worst enemies Mr. Reese. There was nothing you could have done."

"I know." John's short and simple response was too easy and left Finch with a suspicious frown of skepticism, until John continued. "If I hadn't stopped him," he rasped, "he would have killed his father... then turned on you, Finch."

"I'm sorry that you were put in that position. I always knew things could get difficult, but I want you to know, this is not your cross to bear alone. No matter how it may feel at times."

"I'm fine." It was Reese who now cocked his head in eyeing suspicion. "Finch.., I think maybe it's _you_ in need of convincing. You ok?"

Finch let the silence stretch as he considered the question. "Honestly? I find myself questioning whether or not I should have left a bigger back door to the machine, or at least in the details it shares with us."

"Like Root?"

"Not like that... no." He shook his head.

"You think... it should have given us more on the Wrights - Eleanor's number too?" Reese weakly asked.

"I do. I built the machine to detect premeditated crimes. It should have known she wasn't dead and planning to kill her husband. There are very few people capable of accomplishing what she did without leaving so much as a thread to connect their intentions to their intended outcomes."

"You're assuming she was the one actually predicted to follow through with that outcome."

"Anthony?"

Reese swallowed with a gathering nod. "She was behind it now doubt, maybe even the mastermind. But what if she was just the catalyst. He had the funds, which he was known for throwing around, so raised flags there. He had years of pent-up motive, and certainly had no aversion to pulling a trigger." John grimaced with an involuntary shift in bed. "Eleanor may have been the one in love with the idea of killing her husband, but we don't know she would have actually followed through with it."

"An interesting perspective, and does answer why the machine didn't bother with her number."

"So, another case go bad?" Reese prompted.

"I was looking in the wrong places and missed something vital. Yes." Finch pinched his eyes against the images of Mr. Steller being dragged down the ally by the three-ton truck.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there." Finch's downtrodden appearance hurt.

"No...John... I'm the one that's sorry. Yet again, what happened only proves my point. When I built the machine, it was of grave importance to maintain a certain level of opacity. I didn't want the machine to be involved with deciding who was the victim, and who was the perpetrator, that interpretation needed to remain with the human element. However I worry that decision has left things too veiled.

The machine only gives us a number, and it's up to us to fill in the blanks from there - free of any pre-conceived ideas or biases. But what if in doing so, I inadvertently caused more harm than good, by over crippling a system we rely on to save lives. Swiftness and accuracy, neither come easily with just a number. And sometimes with great cost." Finch look straight into John's eyes. "What have I actually accomplished when our victims are discovered to be the perpetrators too late to protect the innocent? Or vise versa?

So many have died because of not having enough information from the start, and not just our victims, but by collateral damage as well. We should have known Anthony was the true perpetrator, before he nearly cost you your life. The machine knew - it just couldn't tell us." Finch closed his eyes.

"Finch, I don't know what happened, but you can't second guess yourself. You're reasons for limiting the machine were and still are valid. If there was some way to guarantee the secrecy of what the machine shared, then maybe. But there's not. That's the one thing you can be a hundred percent certain of - nothing stays secret. So what you did was the only way to insure that each Number gets an impartial and fair shake before any action is taken.

It's always about balance. Too much information is dangerous and costs freedoms, knowing nothing is worse, but somehow you found that balancing point.

I understand you feel the crushing weight of failure for the people we couldn't save. I do too. And I know you somehow feel responsible for what happened to me. You're not. You've always been honest Finch, you never told me it would be easy, and I never expected it. And like a friend once told me.., 'you can't save everyone all the time, what matters is that you try every time.'"

Finch slightly smiled at hearing his own words, originally meant to help John, now used to ease his concerns. John's reassuring counsel went a long way to soothing the gnawing demons of doubt. And of course delivered in Mr. Reese's classically dry and refreshingly blunt style, only made them feel more tangible.

"Besides, with the Wrights, no machine could have sifted through that dysfunction, to decide who was truly innocent and guilty. Hell, I still can't." Reese grinned stiffly moving to lay a hand to Finch's shoulder. "Your turn to rest, Harold."

"Yes, Mr. Reese I think I will. And... It's truly good to have you back."

"I'll be back soon."

"Indeed Mr. Reese, you were missed." Finch slowly stood, rolled is neck and switched off the light. "Night John."


	37. Chapter 38

Real sleep was hard to come by, only possible in short bursts between drug fueled bouts of irrational dreams, desperate nightmares, and the maddening poking and prodding. Who knew he'd miss the peace of a coma.

So when he did finally manage a quiet nap, what sounded like a giant rat gnawing its way through styrofoam was not appreciated to say the least. And he wasn't far off. "Let me guess... I died and am in hell right?"

"Morning to you too." Fusco grumped.

His eyes were still slow to focus, but then given the subject matter, they could take their time. "Breakfast in bed... You shouldn't have, Lionel."

"You're right. S'why I didn't."

"At least some coffee?" The rich smell made him literally salivate and since begging was out of the question where Fusco was concerned, he consider his best take-down options. Limited as they were at the moment.

"You did see the size of nurse Ratchet in there right?" He whispered, "I'm pretty sure I saw her mug shot on interpol's most deadly female stranglers. So until I'm told otherwise. Here."

Reese scowled into the cup of jello. "Does it come in coffee flavor?"

"Comes in red and green - take you're pick." Fusco broadly smiled as he shoved the remnant of a danish in his mouth.

John set the cup aside. "You know a diet wouldn't hurt your waistline."

Fusco laughed. "Insult me all you want. I aint goin' anywhere. I know what you're playing at: you piss me off, I leave, then you get up and run amuck. Guess who'll reap the vengeance of the Professor. He might be small, but I ain't chancing pissing the little guy off. He's got some wicked pull."

"Don't I know it." Reese mumbled, miserably eyeing the dozens of tubes and wires Finch's cadre of devout doctors had him tethered with.

"And Carter don't get me started, she'd have my head. Her's is not a wrath I intend to mess with." He admitted before finishing the last swig of his coffee with exaggerated zest.

Reese didn't notice. "Where is the Detective?

"I look like her personal secretary?"

"You do have that... side-kick air about you." John shot him a threatening look.

"Carter said something about taking some time off. Think she's seeing friends or family upstate. All's I know is I drew the short straw for being your babysitter."

A gnawing tension grew. "Think I can manage without you," he whispered.

"Sure, and god only knows your interpretation of that. We've worked too hard gluing your humpty-dumpty ass back together - it stays in bed."

"Not like I can go far." Reese complained, yanking on the wires and lines connecting him to at least three machines, two bags and who knew what else.

John gave up, laying back and closed eyes. He was frustrated, still feeling so fussy on the events that had transpired, pretty much drawing a blank after watching Anthony get swept away. He remembered Carter somehow being at the Cabin, Fusco too... and the weirdest memory of almost shooting them? But nothing made much sense. Things were just bits and jumbled pieces, fragmented voices, blackness and pain, until he woke up yesterday.

"With you're track record? Don't think I'll risk it. Anyway," He looked at this watch. "I'm gonna catch up on last night's recordings." Fusco leaned forward to stand up. " Don't look at me like that, so I like Elementary and the Big Bang Theory. Bite me."

Reese ignored the rant, his mind was somewhere, on someone, completely different when he whispered, "what happened?"

Fusco scrunched his face confused by the sudden question. "What do ya mean?"

"After the cabin..."

"After your psycho moment? Or the whole thing?" Fusco set his container and cup down and settled in resolve. "Finch didn't tell you?"

Reese simply shook his head. "Some."

"Man this is weird... I don't think I'm the one should tell you. Ya know, I wasn't really there for the last parts..."

"Fusco..." Reese growled.

"Fine." Fusco leaned in on his elbows. "Once upon a time, in some frozen mountains far from the city, this crazy-ex-spy lived to make my life a living hell. One day he and his partner get this hair-brained idea that taking on a whole army by themselves, in the middle of a killer storm, is a good idea..."

Reese was just about to test exactly how much slack his lines had when Fusco quite his irritating tail. "So Carter, now as crazy as you, convinces me that stealing my cousin's monster truck is a good idea, which getting 86'ed from their Thanksgiving dinner is really gonna suck."

Reese just scowled at yet another tangent. "Anyway, we finally make it up there. The place was in shambles, we're wondering if anything was left alive, until we find you guys - or rather the end of your gun - not the end I'm used to from you anymore." Fusco rubbed his face recalling the events. "Wasn't your fault, you were running on fumes by then. After that you were pretty much out of it. We got everyone loaded up and made a beeline off that popsicle of a mountain with the reaper on your tail, and we were just sliding back into the city when he finally caught you. Carter battled the whole way trying to keep you breathing till we could meet, whatever off-the-grid, doctors Finch had lined up. We weren't sure we'd make it in time. And didn't. You crashed right before we got there. Think it scared five years off the Professor's life."

Fusco took pity on the blank stare covering the ex-op's face and decided to fill in the blanks a bit more. "You don't know that part either? Finch tell you anything?"

"What."

"Buddy you bought the farm, flat-lined, were dead and gone just as we got to the clinic. Kinda a blur for me from there, cuz the doctors were pretty quick to kick-start your motor and sweep you inside. I don't know what happened after that, I left for the precinct. Carter and Finch filled me in. I guess those bullets did a number on your chest and lung - hemo...new... thor something..."

"Hemopneumothorax?"

"Yeah, yeah that's it. Anyway, guess that means there was so much impact trauma and damage to your chest it collapsed your lung and was crushing everything else, including your heart. You were in surgery forever. But like I said, I'm not that lucky, even dying didn't get rid of your stubborn-pain-in-my-ass... ass."

John processed the surreal details, feeling out of sorts at not remembering a thing and yet experiencing horrible guilt for putting everyone through it. At least that explained the web-work of tubes and wires. There was no pain to speak of, just some dull aches, making him wonder what concoction Finch's doctors had flowing through his veins. But it didn't answer everything.

"Sorry man, I know it must be weird."

"Has Carter been here?" It was out before he could reel his wayward thought back in.

Fusco studied his own hands as if they were the most interesting things he'd ever seen before finally rallying his courage. "Look.., might be overstepping here. And'll probably be my last words on earth.., but there's something I gotta say. She's my partner and you gotta hear it."

Reese could feel the hackles on the back of his neck instantly rising at the mention of Carter and Fusco's Kamikaze approach.

"Normally I steer clear of Carter's personal life, especially when that involves you, but after what I saw.., I can't take it anymore."

Reese hit Fusco was a dark and warning glare, which Fusco tried hard to ignore it and put some physical space between them by leaning way back in the chair. "Look Carter's not just my partner, but she's also a friend, so I owe it to her to say this. She never will.

Man, if you'd seen her, when you were doing your impersonation of a corpse.., well it broke my heart. She's seen plenty of death, so this was something entirely different. I don't even know what to call it.

She cares for you something fierce, and way more than she lets on. You're not dumb, so I'm thinking that's no secret. Whatever it is you feel for her... you better do something about it. One way or the other, because you did this to her.

Since you came around, she's changed. Don't get me wrong - a lot of it's for the better. With work, she's more driven, feels like she's making a difference, and seems happy, but personally, socially, she's holding back. She's put the brakes on any kinda of a life. That ain't healthy ya know. She's a good person, smart and good-looking with a lot to offer... She deserves more.

Either you feel the same way, and you quit this... whatever-the-hell kinda _allergy_ you guys got to office romances, or you be clear and release her from the twisted hold you have over her. It ain't fair, skirting around each other with so much tension... Hell, it makes us all uncomfortable!

So figure it out already!" Fusco nervously swallowed, "that's all I had to say." He was honestly surprised that he was still breathing and Reese had let him finish, not strangling him with one of his IV lines or something. But his vacant glare was almost as unnerving.

Reese keep his emotions locked down, carefully schooled to reveal nothing of the sabotaging impact Fusco's words had upon him. None of the physical trauma he'd sustained could ever touch the rippling agony of hearing how Carter had suffered because of him.

From the beginning he'd been careful to avoid any deeper relationship with her for fear of exposing her to more physical danger by entangling her into the tainted web of the darkness that was his life. And despite that, he'd still succeeded in screwing up her pursuance of a normal life and caused her pain. 'It wasn't fair,' Fusco was right. He couldn't let her continue this undefined, unfulfilled existence. She deserved so much more. He needed to see her...

Fusco saw the muscles in his jaw working and the way he grew tense staring at the door. "Don't even think about it... I didn't mean now. She's outta town and you ain't goin' anywhere for a while. We're just gonna sit here and watch these damn shows before someone spills what happened."

Tortured inside and out... And now trapped in hell. Reese closed his eyes. Yet somehow felt a new-found appreciation for Fusco. "Thanks Lionel." And truly meant it.


	38. Chapter 39

Six days. It had been six more miserable days spent fused over, mothered, studied, watched, pricked, poked, and trapped until he'd finally been able to escape to his blissful solitude away from Finch's protective hovering and Fusco's... well, just irritating everything.

He couldn't take it anymore and the only person he wanted to see was still completely... MIA.

He hadn't seen Carter since the mountain, or at least not that he remembered. Fusco said she hadn't left his side the entire time he'd been critical, but soon as he stabilized she started drawing away, avoided coming around and then when he showed signs of waking... she left.

John'd tried calling her several times, but each time it just went to voice mail. Something was definitely wrong, but Fusco had made it retreating-ly clear, he'd said his piece and now dodged any questions regarding Carter like he'd tossed acid. _ Probably smart on his part,_ John reasoned.

Reese stood up straighter, rolled his neck and tested the range of motion in his shoulders and chest, while trying to ease some of the stiffness and tension. He inhaled passed the comfortable limits of his healing wounds and cracked ribs, always pushing for more, but relieved to at least be up, out and free. And more importantly - showering.

There were a lot of things Reese could endure, pain, torture, no food, no sleep.., those he could deal with, but not being able to bathe himself was a special kind of hell he was happy to never visit again.

Glad for the water proof bandages, John let the hot water hit the back of his neck and roll a massaging path over every inch of his sore, but grateful body with unhindered greed.

It wasn't until the thick steam started bothering his lungs before he begrudgingly stepped out and traded the watery sanctuary for a towel and a cold drink before returning to the bathroom.

John swiped the steam from the mirror and just stood there staring at the poster boy for the latest edition of '_Ass Kickings Weekly.'_ "I'm getting too old for this crap." Pretty soon his scars would have scars, he grumbled changing his bandages and inspecting the latest additions to his map work of history and frowned at the fading collage of bruises still evident on his chest and ribs. He couldn't see his back, and honestly didn't care as he shifted his attention to the salt and pepper stubble defining his pronounced features. He'd lost weight these last weeks, but didn't mind, thinking it made him look a bit younger somehow. _Younger's good, _he mused and began shaving away the gray while letting his mind wander back to Carter.

His body knew what it was doing before his mind fully wrapped around the decision to grab his phone.

"Mr. Reese is everything ok?"

"Fine Finch. I need you to do me a favor..."

"If I'm able.., certainly."

"Locate Carter."

"Please don't push too soon Mr. Reese. I'm sure the De..." But Finch stopped mid sentence realizing the unintentional double meaning and the futility of stopping John when it came to the Detective. "She's back at her apartment." And knowing John's reasons were that of a more personal nature, he added, "Taylor is away still visiting family."

"Thanks Finch." Though he doubted Harold would pry, he hung up before he could ask any questions. He wouldn't have had the answers anyway... All he knew was that he needed to see her. She wouldn't come to him, so he'd goto her. Why and what he'd say when he got there... would just have to come on its own.

* * *

Joss sat, curled on her couch, tightly clutching a pillow, while hoping the TV would provide some distraction, or at least make her feel less alone.

It didn't.

It was late and she was beyond tired. _Was there even a word for beyond that?_ Because real sleep was something she thought she'd never have again.

Though her eyes would slide shut from sheer muscle exhaustion, her momentary naps were plagued with nightmarish memories that woke her in adrenalin charged terror, or simply by her own shearing scream.

So she avoided sleep altogether, but that didn't solve everything, it didn't stop the images from creeping back.

She had been holding him in her arms, when _it_ happened. She felt his last ragged breaths of battle leave his body. And all she could do was watch in disbelieving horror, and knew things would never be the same.

A lone tear traced its way down the well worn path on her cheek, as she gave into the haunting flood of memories once more.

Reese had fought the entire way down that damn mountain, while she'd done everything she'd known to help him. Fusco drove like a mad man, pushing every inch of the way. She couldn't remember more than just the feel of being slung around and an exclamation or two barked with a close call. But by the time they'd made it to the city, every horrific second was burned into her brain. John was in shock and literally suffocating. Then... John Reese died.

Carter took a deep breath while wiping away a few more defiant tears. "Time is something no one has to spare." She whispered, slamming her eyes shut against the next searing memories.

Fusco slide sideways into the parking lot of that obscure little clinic, narrowly missing Finch's doctors as they raced to meet them. The doctors frantically fought, right there, outside in the middle of the snow mounded piles to get him back.

She remembered one Doctor off handedly commenting 'it had been a miracle that he'd made it that long.' She'd never been so close to committing murder as at that moment... Luckily someone else shouted 'they had a pulse' and whisked John away.

Carter rolled her neck and massaged her temples. When would the images fade...

After barely surviving surgery, it had taken many more days of torturous waiting and uncertainty for the doctors to finally declare John critical, but stable enough to move to Finch's safe-house ICU. The Doctors ran a tight rotation watching the patient. Finch watched everything. And she watched John.

Somehow it was an unspoken truth that the mystery man that cheated death also held some undeniable importance beyond just to those that cared about him. The doctors had not idea who he was, except that his survival undeniably mattered.

It was hard. Every bit of it. Seeing John like that. Seeing Finch try to act normal. Though he'd masterfully kept everything hidden and neatly bottled, she recognized his stress when he started recklessly throwing himself into back to back cases. The last of which caused her to cringe at her own deplorably callous treatment of him.

Everything was still just too raw for her to offer the words she knew he so desperately needed after witnessing the bar owner's murder. She'd ended up just barking some cold-ass remark about 'at least not getting himself killed,' even though that was the last thing he needed.

But how could she encourage his dangerous pursuits. She couldn't handle nearly loosing someone else so dear. And she just couldn't keep a handle on her uncheck emotions - anger always being her knee-jerk reaction to fear, and feeling utterly lost in the fallout. She was barely keeping it together. He'd only end up hurt or worse, just like John.

Poor Finch, she owed him an apology. But thankfully the only person that could truly help woke that same night.

Judging by Lionel's cranky description, things seemed normal and she could at least rejoice that their world would soon find its balance again.

She could only hope the same for herself one day. But right now, everything felt as far from normal and rational as they could be. Her balance had all but abandoned her to flounder in this misery. And only got worse with each day that she dodged his calls. It got to the point that she couldn't even go see him.

What the hell was happening? Why was she reacting like this?

She loved him - that much hadn't changed. She was certain he still loved her too, but his fear for her safety kept him forever separate, cursed by love, and never to know it.

Of course she'd held out hope that would change.

She'd been understanding of his painful past and tried to be tolerant of his needlessly placed worries, but avoiding what they felt for each other over fear of _potential _consequences_, _was something she just couldn't accept anymore.

Life was fragile and fleeting for everyone, only made more so by their lines of work, but it was for that very reason that she would grab and hold onto whatever little wonderful bits she could. She honestly thought John would come around and see that too, but when she'd lost him, she realized she'd been in a holding pattern, circling around a man that would never allow himself love - only penance.

She realized not even the fear of death was enough to drive him to seek more out of what life he had left - his fear of death for others was far greater, and would always be - even to the detriment of happiness. And that meant her's as well.

He would never change. Part of her always knew that, and that was the real underlying issue, wasn't it. That's why she was so mad... not at him, but at herself for getting so lost and broken by a love she would never know.

"Ahgrrr!" Carter couldn't sift the sensory overload of these senseless rounds. It wasn't his fault. He was still the same person he'd always been. Doing his job, like he'd always done, always would, and luckily still could. Same man she loved. Alive.

And abandon - by her.

She knew is was a defense mechanism, "I should march my embarrassed butt right over there, own up and apologize. And say what? Huh? Sorry I've been treating you like crap because I was _protecting myself_? And then what? Just act normal? Go back to the way things were? What the hell was normal for them anyway?_"_

And worst of all, she was sure that somehow... he already knew.

He always did. That was just another thing that made everything so much worse. He knew her better than anyone every could, even herself. Two people meant for each other, but never meant to be.

"Ok, this is pathetic and has to stop. You're having a full on, crazy-person melt-down in a conversation with yourself... Either you've had too much wine or not enough..!"

Her mind still not fully made up, Joss rose with a huff and stomped to the kitchen for a refill when a knock at her door stopped her mid-pure. Out of habit she grabbed her gun from the counter on the way.

She raised to her toes and looked out the peephole.

A mixture of adrenalin-fed joy and annoyance, battled for dominance while excitement stirred both. "John..."


	39. Chapter 40

Joss took a deep breath, collecting her scattering emotions and opened the door.

"Hey Carter."

"What are you doing here?" It came out wrong, sounding harsher than she'd meant. "I mean.., _out. _ What are you doing out so soon?" He looked amazing, staggeringly so, despite what he'd been through. The quietly confident, commanding air that always emanated from him, was back. Though somehow not entirely the same. The always present strained look, as if every burden was his to bear... looked...?

"Long as I avoid any mob brawls, Finch, or Fusco... I'll survive." John looked at her gun with raised brows and the slightest smile, "pretty sure I'm not too dangerous yet, Carter."

"You're always dangerous John." Carter holstered her gun only then realizing it was still in her hand. "Is everything alright?"

Reese's face grew serious. "I'm not sure..."

Carter again faced him in worried question.

"Are you?" Of the millions of things he wanted to say, that needed to be said, it was a meager start.

She didn't know where to begin or how to respond. So she simply lied, "I'm fine."

Carter ignored the disbelieving frown, instead just tried to absorb the fact that he was here, standing in her doorway large as life. He was thinner, but just more chiseled, paler but good color... but the look... It struck her - she recognized it now. Sad-hollowness.

Because of her. Her selfish avoidance. And now he was here risking, his recovery because she'd given him no choice but to track her down. "John, come inside."

Reese quietly slipped in, waiting for her to close the door. She was far from 'ok.' Though hidden under loose clothes, he could see the weight loss along with the knotted and rigid posture of too many sleepless nights, now gone numb. Her lack of faux annoyance, or any real opinion about him 'ruining her quiet evening' spoke to that, but her tired, red rimmed eyes and the piles of tissue next to the empty box, proved it. And it was his fault. "Carter..."

"Please..," she cut him off and motioned him to the couch, "sit down, you should still take it easy."

It wasn't a suggestion.

She however, remained standing, not trusting herself to say what she needed to say without keeping some distance between them. And those eyes. She had to avoid them. They could still take over all thought and reason, melting their way over any wall she may have thought impenetrable. As it was, all she wanted to do was curl up in his arms and sob tears of apology and joy. Instead she waited until he sat, scrutinized his every move.

Reese lowered himself with masked discomfort. He didn't want to sit. Didn't want to be this far from her. Though recognizing she needed the illusion of bolstering space, he gave her the distance and waited until it became clear she couldn't start. "Carter.."

_No._ "No John, wait. I need to say something." Joss nervously raised a halting hand and shifted, "I'm glad you're here. Able to be here! Alive." She inhaled while trying to calm down. "And I'm sorry. Sorry for the way I've been acting and not being there. I've... been... dealing with some stuff, but think I've got it figured out." God, she hated the sound of her weak voice, unconvincing to her own ears.

Her obvious distress was more than he could handle. Reese slowly rose and closed the separation between them not stopping until he stood right in front of her. "Joss, whatever it is, I'm here."

His nearness and whispered assurance sent shivers of desire teaming through her body. But she drew back - _that was exactly the problem. _ She avoided looking at his face now, not sure if she could bear to look into those pained eyes without breaking down.

"Joss... Please talk to me." He brought long fingers to her cheek, tracing his thumb over her silken skin and swiping at a remaining tear.

Joss swallowed. This wasn't fair. For either of them. "That's just it." She pulled back and rallied her resolve, despite the threatening tears. She had to say this. "You say 'you're here,' but not really. Not the way I need. I don't need protecting. I watched you die. I... lost you, and all I could think about was that our chance was gone, maybe we never really had a chance, but we never got to try. It killed me."

Reese was frozen in place, unable to choke down the dry lump in his throat or to pull out the spike driven so thoroughly through his soul.

"I know.., you've been nothing but honest. I get your fears about enemies trying to use me against you, and believe me, I get the risks of your job. But I can't just stop my feelings for you because it's not safe. The threats - I can handle. And dammit John, how many more chances are you gonna get? You don't have to solely exist for the sake of others - this is your life too! You don't have to sacrifice everything good and just skim along the surface because you don't think your worthy. Happiness is a choice as important to life, as life itself. Love is a choice..," she whispered and closed her eyes.

Her anguished admission rendered him completely speechless and nearly staggered him with guilt. He'd come here tonight, determined to somehow free her of her pain. It was true, his fears had been holding them back, not because of his lack of love, but because _of_ it. He couldn't bear the idea of putting her in more danger, but he'd been so caught up in trying to protect her, that he didn't realize what he was costing her. Her love for him kept her waiting, and hobbled by his hesitancy, only condemned her to an empty and loveless life. A fate far worse than his fears for her, and one he would gladly battle head-on for her happiness.

Having to hear how she suffered from Fusco was the punch in the gut he needed, hearing her now, was the final blow. He loved her with every fiber of his being, in ways and for reasons he could never even have dreamt possible - and that just made the situation more cruel to them both.

Truly, he had loved Jessica, but Carter was undeniably different. More. She was his savior, his soul mate, and for a million more reasons he couldn't let things go on like this. She deserved free and unconditional love...

And yet all he could do was stand there, so emotionally overwhelmed by it all, that she mistook his silence and began to back away.

In that instant, the terror of feeling her pull away, shook him to reach out and still her trembling body. "Joss wait." He nearly choked the whisper. "I came here tonight knowing nothing more than I want you to be happy. And you're right. About everything. My life hasn't lent itself to personal needs or fulfillments, it's been dark and lonely and filled with dirty lies masked under false causes. It's not an excuse, just the reason I learned to skirt the edges of relationships and stay detached - so I could do whatever needed to be done. Whatever the cost. But I never meant to hurt you. I'm so sorry I didn't see it - what I was costing you. I do now, and can't do this anymore. You deserve more. You deserve everything Joss."

"John I understand..." She sadly smiled struggling to keep herself together while parting from his hold. She had always known he was the victim of his own past, tortured and betrayed by it, and somehow he'd found the strength to crawl on until finding purpose and true friendship. He had come so far and yet she now knew he would never allow himself love. "I... I don't know what I deserve... But you're right. I... I can't continue to do this."

John's frustration grew with his own epic failure to make himself clear. "You don't understand... What I'm trying to say is.., from the first moment I met you, I knew things were different, changing for me in ways I didn't understand. You and Harold changed me, connected me to this world in ways I'd never known. And it's because of you I now see there is so much more to this life worth fighting for. I survived because of you Joss Carter, because I'm in love with you. And nothing is going to get in the way of that. Not anymore!" He met her tear filled eyes and gently pulled her into him. "I don't know if I can bring you the life you deserve, but I know I want to try - now, tomorrow and everyday we have left - let me love you." Knowing his words could never convey what he truly felt, he leaned down and captured her in a kiss desperate to show the depth of his love.

At first, ridged shock gripped her body, leaving her stiff and not trusting her interpretation of his heartfelt words, until the dizzying heat of John's affirming lips melted any possibility of doubt. She let herself be swept away by the moment and Reese's rapturing kiss, lost in his strong embrace and pressed into him with the drunk sensation of hearing the words she'd only imagined.

John reveled in the sweetness of her taste while feeling intoxicated by the immediate response of her body to his swelling plea. But he had to know - to hear her say - this was what _she_ wanted.

A soft whimper of loss left her lips as he broke their desperate contact. "Joss," he panted, stroking a rogue lock of hair behind her ear, and held her with intense conviction. "I can't promise you a _safe_ and _normal_ life, I can't promise anything but my love with everything that I am, and I swear I'll do everything in my power to protect you and Taylor to my dying breath... If that's what you want."

Carter could feel the flooding rush of emotions swirling to her very soul as his words and their full meaning crystalized into miraculous truth. How long had she prayed for him to let her in, to open himself up to her love? How long had she dreamt of this moment!

She looked up into his soulful eyes as a stray tear ran from hers. "I never wanted _normal_ or _safe_, I just wanted you John Reese... For a long as fate will allow, I just want you."

Reese gently drew her shaking hands to his lips, kissing each with a look of loving contemplation. "Carter... You and Taylor may be targeted because of me. There's no going back... You're sure?"

"John, I accepted that a long time ago. We are no strangers to dangerous and evil people. But why should we not have love because of them? So yeah, I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

That was all he needed for all his fears to fall away, leaving only the two of them, standing side by side, fated souls, always destined to be together and finally stealing their chance regardless of the chaotic world outside.

Reese swept an arm around her waist and pulled her to his wanting body with a devouring kiss. Their tongues dueled for supremacy - the battle given up as happily won - with each stroking taste.

Lost to their overwhelmed senses, the nearby wall made for fortuitous support as they stumbled up against it. John never took his lips from her skin, nipping a mind-numbing trail down her jaw, neck, shoulder, sending shivers of icy-hot sparks up her back and down through her stomach to hidden places previously stirred by fantasies alone.

Carter moaned her approval and let her head fall back in complete surrender.

The moans of sheer heaven touched his ears as he continued tasting Joss's exquisite skin, but as she leaned back and thrust her supple breasts against him, he realized he needed more. Skillfully, he slipped his hands under her shirt savoring every inch of her delicate form as he worked his beauty free of the barring fabric.

With utter pleasure he found she was wearing no bra and caressed her perfect breathes with masterfully hands and greedy eyes.

Carter enjoyed the look of heady-want that passed over his predatory eyes. She shoved his suit jacket from his shoulders and aggressively worked the buttons on his shirt, desperate to also feel his bare flesh against hers. She'd been so lost in the thralls of their heated abandon it came as a gut-wrenching shock to see the lingering bruises and stark white bandages still covering his body. "Oh John..." She traced the tape with remorseful fingers, embarrassed that she'd forgotten.

Reese grabbed her hands and pressed them to his wounds with a whisper, "the only thing that hurts.., is not feeling you touch me."

For a moment her voice cracked with emotion. She feared for him, with his above-danger approach, always rushing in without regard to himself, but she would never want him to change who he was, or had become. Right or wrong he was perfect. She loved him and would continue loving him, hoping that he would fall in love with more than just her, but life itself. She stood on her toes, placing her delicate hands against his chest and enjoyed the smooth angles of his chiseled body. "Then I'll never stop touching you." She promised and met his lips with gentle and yearning passion.

Reese bent to her lips, moaning his approval and quickly cast away the slow tenderness for his growing need and sheer want of this amazing woman. H_is_ Joss.

Their lips mirroring each other in perfect symmetry, while hands searched and explored undiscovered perfection.

John drank in her utopian form, running his hands up and down her body, breasts and back - _flawless silk_, smooth, strong and deadly. He knew it was like stroking a panther, but the cloaked danger only intensified his burning desire.

A lustful grin curled his lips as he undid her pants and slowly sank with them until they pooled around her bare feet. Kneeling before such a beauty seemed so appropriate, and took his breath away. Her cocoa skin glistened in the low light of her apartment, reminding him of a _few _erotic fantasies he'd conjured over the years. And soon... realities.

Joss leaned against the wall as Reese deeply traced his strong fingers up the backs of her legs and drew her to his greedy mouth. She sucked a rasping breath with the blindingly evident talent, nearly loosing her balance from the spinning head rush of tingling heat that spread through her body to her very finger tips.

Despite being a lethal killer, Carter reveled in the gentleness of John's loving touch as she soared on the euphoric wave, rising until she could no longer contain the explosion of dancing tremors within her core. She was lost, floating in a fantasy that had finally become reality as she sang out his name in utter release. "Oh... John..."

John savored every writhing buck of her blossoming orgasm, slowing and lightening his touch until she eased and sank into his waiting embrace. He rose to hold and nuzzled his erotic angel.

Joss leaned into him, her body limp and sated, but only for a moment; they had years to make up for. With a devilish grin, her attention moved to his belt, pants then boxers working them over his slender hips as she let them fall to the floor.

John toed off his shoes and socks, stepping from the forgotten pile, "Joss I didn't plan this..."

Carter took in the sight of his gloriously naked form. As amazing as the man was in clothes, he was even more stunning without. His statement barely registered through her haze of appreciation, until she met his eyes and realized what he'd meant. "Oh. There's no chance of that," She couldn't help but smile at the concern in his voice. "and I never tempted fate."

Reese's concern eased. "I've never been the trusting sort either," he assuredly grinned, "until now." He resumed his mind numbing nibbling of her neck and teased her skin into goosebumps of anticipation.

The idea of unhindered freedom only sweetened every taste and ignited their passion.

The last of their clothes were shed and tossed, left like a breadcrumb trail to certain rapture, as Reese guided them to the couch.

With a look of hungry awe, he encircled Carter's waist and lowered her down to the soft cushions, pulling away just long enough to drink in her draped beauty before bending to deliriously drew his tongue up her toned stomach, over her tantalizing scares, and to her full and waiting breasts. "I have dreamt of this, so many times, and in so many ways." He whispered.

Joss was honestly surprised by his admission, all this time harboring a private guilt for fantasizing so many of her own about him. His reverence made her feel suddenly empowered as she laced her long, shapely legs around his hips, and pulled him to her. She couldn't hold back the hitched moan with the sudden feel of his hardness and intense heat pressing perfectly against her ready folds.

Reese braced above her and held her eyes with one last questioning look. "Joss?"

Her eyes burned with desire. "Oh _yes_ John..." she whispered putting any doubt to rest with the passionate vow. Her hands slide down his broad back to his hips in guiding affirmation.

With nothing left between them, no more fear, hesitation, or question, he lowered himself to Joss's long-awaited touch.

Carter sharply inhaled, arching her body from the exquisite pain and joyful delirium as Reese slowly moved into her, touching her very soul.

The sensation was overwhelming.

John closed his eyes, using every ounce of control not to bury himself in the full depths of her perfection, but he waited, gently coaxing her body, wanting her to relax and accept him in every intimate way before delving deeper.

As with everything he did, Carter felt Reese put other's before his own needs. He moved with such slow and worrying tenderness, she would have felt guilty if she were capable of forming the thought. But as her body conformed to his size, she eased his concern by searching for more. She needed to feel every wildly released part of John Reese. "I want you..."

"Then you'll have me..," he exhaled. When he saw his own emotions reflected back in Carter's eyes, he knew, no longer would he have to be guarded, nor ever hold back his desire and love for her.

Reese thrust himself in declaration, feeling a surging excitement at hearing his name spoken on a breathy gasp of pleasure as he gave himself to her completely.

Carter never, even in all her dreams, imagined it would be like this. He predicted her desires before she even realized them, and satisfied her in a way no man ever had. Could. Without question he answered her unspoken pleas, quickly bringing her passed coherent pleasure and enveloping her in boundless ecstasy.

Reese drank in his seductive beauty, riding his rhythm with both elegant grace and ravaging freedom. She kept nothing hidden from him, sharing her most intimate feelings with every unabashed look and meeting motion.

As with everything they did together, they moved in perfect understanding, as one seamless force of dangerous reckoning. But she was cunning too. John had to fight loosing control to her wickedly drawn nails radiating trails of control-stealing fire down his back.

He growled a threatening warning, dragging retaliating teeth down her neck and bite a tasting kiss as he drove himself to the hilt.

Carter screamed with the sudden flood of tingling sparks ignited throughout her body. She could no more speak than think as the orgasmic wave swept her away.

John's last shreds of control were instantly stolen when Carter gripped him in her fiery pulses of release.

They melted into each other, both still vibrating and panting with the exertion of their love, but relaxed in momentarily appeasement as they clung to each other's slickened bodies.

Carter snuggled against his chest, careful to avoid his incisions and bruises while marveling at how he'd had the strength so soon after his horrific injuries, far exceeding her fantasies no less. God only knew what the man was capable of at a hundred percent. But astonishing her was nothing new. Every moment with this man, from the start, had been either awe-inspiringly amazing or utterly maddening, but never predictable and _never_ dull.

Glad to feel his taut muscles giving way to a rare contentment that blanketed them both in the warm embrace, she lay there, quietly contemplating her unimaginable newfound happiness. Part of her still didn't accept the truth laying right beside her, that somehow she'd finally fallen asleep, that this was a dream and she'd wake to the same lost stated he'd found her in. But she couldn't deny the feel of his heated skin, the smell of intoxicating body, the eyes that stared directly into her soul.

"I love you Joss Carter."

There it was. Change. Freedom. Their truth. She could only smile in stupid glee.

John inhaled, savoring the perfect moment. To finally be holding Carter as his, feeling her, having her, loving her... the way he was meant to, it was indescribable. His eyes slide shut in thanks.

"Was that ok? You ok?"

Reese chuckled at the understatement. "More than ok."

She smiled, "I meant, it didn't hurt you did it?"

He thought about that.., "mmmm only in all the right ways."

"Dammit John, would you just answer the question." She laughed in frustration, but couldn't handle it if he'd re-injured himself making love to her too soon.

"No, Carter I'm perfect." He nuzzled a kiss. "Anyway Finch has his squad of Gestapo doctors following my every move. Probably outside the door having a heart attack and ready to break it down any second." He winked a grin.

"Ok, as glad as I am it didn't hurt you, that's a really creepy image. Thanks." She laughed, suddenly feeling a wave of lustful desire. "You know.., there's only one problem with what we just did..."

Reese rolled up on his elbow in question wearing a mock frown.

"How can we ever top what we just did? It was... _un-top-able."_ She giggled at her silly term.

"That sounded suspiciously like a challenge Detective. You know I'm not one to back down from a challenge."

"I know..." She purred.

"Accepted..." Reese mischievously grinned, pulling her into a deep kiss of renewed fire. "Bedroom?"

A sensual smile spread to her lips as she savored the lingering taste of him and answered what words didn't need to. Using her body's seductive gifts, she slowly rose from the couch, reveling in John's immediate responses as she drew him with her.

The storms had all passed, leaving a crisp and vivid full moon in its wake. John didn't need any lights to see Carter's alluring form as they kissed their way to her room. She smelled of sunshine-warmed jasmine, and tasted of honey-wine and salty desire, all drawing a wanting growl from deep within him.

As they lay across the bed, the silvery rays of moonlight spilled through her window, dancing a glistening path over her cocoa skin in stunning contrast.

Reese took in her impossible beauty, beside himself with a forgotten happiness and swelled to have her once again. To have her spread beneath him, to run his tongue from her tight breasts, giving pause only to tease hardening nibbles, then again move down her silken skin to taste her delicious bliss_._

John moved to get up, until Joss gently coaxed his shoulders back down instead. "My turn..." She whispered with a glint of bedeviling charm then trailed her hair down his body until straddling him with a look of sinful intent.

Every inch of his well built body turned her on, called to her - it always had. He'd only become more defined since seeing him shirtless in New Orleans. _Deadly honed perfection._ _Now her's._

Reese marveled at Carter snaking her glorious curves above him, tasting and exploring with her bewitching tongue and teeth while her hands found every begging inch of him. He was lost to her enthralling movements and maddening massage, and released a sudden hiss of sheer pleasure when she wholly took him into her mouth. He moaned at her tongues rolling pulses and wicked strokes, enjoying the mind-numbing sensation, but refused to give in to her heavenly torture. "Joss.., cum with me."

Sucking one last time with devilish greed, Carter stopped her un-hinging teasing and flashed Reese a look of dark yearning while gliding up his hips. She hovered, poised to wield her captivating control, and met his imploring blue eyes. With a soft whimper she descended, taking him into her.

Teeth bared, Reese gasped in assaulted delight watching his warrior woman begin to dominate and clam what had, in truth,_ always _been hers.

Matching strengths, they moved in frenzied delirium, writhing perfection, each just knowing what the other wanted as working muscles and harmonious bodies moved as one. Together they again climbed to the peaks of pleasure, skirting along its edge, daring the fall.

Carter held onto John's broad shoulders avoiding his injuries as much as dizzy comprehension would allow, while continuing her tormenting teasing, taunting, and tantalizing until the desperate call of need escaped him.

The feral growl reminded Carter of the dangerous power held with waning control and nearly lost her's to the mere thought of him. The sound of his want made her burn, and build until she sank her hungering body around him and could go no further. Joss elated with the delight of his life's essence and hissing moans of release.

Both sated and spent, they collapsed in exquisite surrender. Neither their love nor their passion would ever be denied again.

Reese pressed a gentle kiss to Carter's forehead, wonderfully and truly too tired to think about anything beyond the Angel curled in his arms. He hoped he could bring her the happiness and peace she deserved. "You became a part of me the moment we met, Carter. I won't hold back, but I'll always protect you. I love you, and now you can finally sleep my Joss."

Carter smiled into his neck where she'd contentedly snuggled and rose to an elbow. His blue-green eyes twinkled with the moonlight and carefully watched her as she chased her finger tips over a cheek. She was beyond exhaustedly-happy. The confused tension, the pain and anger had all been melted from her body, and now she wholly felt those wonderful words lulling her into a love filled future for the first time in her life. "I think now, I will... John. I love you with all my heart, and no matter what life throws at us, I know you'll be there and so will I. Sleep well... _my_ personal Vigilante and _Man- Finally __Out-Of His Suit._"

They shared a soft smiled and leaned in for one more - of a million - kisses to come.

* * *

**The end... (... they have to sleep some time... :-) but to be continued.**

**Author's notes*** I have no plans to kill Carter, at least not in the permanent sense like the show. I just can't fathom loosing that wonderful dynamic - and a very turned on John Reese.**

**I will be bringing things a little more up to date as far as using bits of Shaw and Root in some plots, but Reese will never share as much 'screen time' as the show is now making him do. ( POI is, and always will be, about Finch and Reese and their journey through this technologically convoluted human condition.)**

**POI Stories in order: 1)Energy, 2)Twisted, 3)Death Dealer 4)The Hunt ~ Hope you enjoy them as well!**

**Please R&R - It's candy for writers! Thank you all! **

**To the Guest reviewers - thank you! And I'm sorry I can't PM you personally to say thanks. I appreciate you sharing. **

**POI - I don't own any of the Characters, I just like to barrow and play with them for fun! ;-) **


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